Mad World
by Mytay
Summary: A post-Never Been Kissed fic. Kurt has been incredibly sad, hurt and tired lately. Burt finds out why . . . and then gets angry. Very angry. In the meantime, a few people are waking up to reality and Kurt is not as alone as he may think he is.
1. Familiar Faces

**Mad World**

**By: **Mytay

**Rating:** T (For a few nasty words, occasionally let loose by our Hummel men and Glee kids, and for the bullies, who are going to be much worse with their choice of insults and in their actions.)

**Summary:** Kurt is tired and hurting. When his dad finds out why . . . Burt gets angry. Very angry. In the meantime, a few people are waking up to reality and Kurt is not as alone as he thinks.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own, anything Glee related. Nor do I own the song whose title and lines of its lyrics I am borrowing for the title of this fic and its chapters. _Mad World_ belongs to _Tears for Fears, _though I personally prefer the Gary Jules version.

**Note: **A fic inspired by Season 2, Episode 6: Never Been Kissed, also known as the episode that _ate my brain_. I also like to call this episode the 'OMGWTF?' episode. Call me naive – I didn't see it coming.

**As of June 2013: **This fic is now fully revised. I've caught some mistakes here and there, and fixed them, so hopefully it is error-free – of course, please let me know if this is not the case.

**Feb. 2014: **Revised again, and **completed** – that is that for this story, and love to all of you that have put up with my sporadic updating. I will always reply to any reviews left here or on my LJ, so please sign in to either site before you do so, but that's the end of my Glee writing. See final notes in last chapter for more info.

**Warnings: **I will warn for any potentially triggering subject matter at the beginning of every chapter – again, please let me know if there's something I've missed.

And so, without further ado:

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Familiar Faces_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Burt was sitting on the couch, listening to some Mellencamp, trying to relax – he'd just gotten back from a short day at work (all he could manage were five hours before his tiredness became too much to hide and his mechanics kicked him out and sent him home), when Kurt burst through the front door. He craned his neck to stare down the hall, a simple 'Hey kiddo' on the tip of this tongue, but then he saw the red-rimmed eyes.

"Kurt?"

Kurt just looked at him, breath hitching. It had Burt frowning – his boy had been so out of it these past couple of days and right in that moment, he looked dead on his feet.

It had been getting worse lately – his son could be moody like any other teenager, but in the past few of months the down swing had been nearly constant. He said 'nearly' because Kurt did his best to keep up a front at home, but Finn had been informing him about Kurt's occasional outbursts at school, and the fact that the bullying was just _not_ letting up. It made Burt long to be sixteen again – if only so he could sneak into that school and pound on those assholes for his kid, grind them into paste so there'd be nothing left but a smear on the wall.

Kurt confessed to going to scope out the all-boys private school in Westerville to 'spy' for Glee club, all soft-words and so wearied, likely expecting a grounding, but Burt had let it go. He'd seen the joy in his son's eyes when he'd gone off on a tangent about 'zero-tolerance' and 'acceptably stylish' uniforms, and an incredibly talented glee club. He'd heard the tremble in his son's voice – the indication of barely restrained tears. He couldn't help but notice the awe when Kurt explained breathily about how the students there really _didn't_ _care_ that he was gay. At all.

Burt had seriously considered transferring him, because even though it might make things tough around their home (he had money saved up, but with medical bills, it would be tight for a long time), he hadn't seen his son that happy since . . . since before his mother died. He'd forgotten how amazing it was to behold.

"Kurt? You're kinda freakin' me out a bit, son. C'mon, have a seat."

Kurt blinked, unfreezing himself, finally doing more than just breathing deeply and staring off into space. He shut the door behind him and walked zombie-slow to the couch, falling onto it heavily. He then curled on his side towards his father, who immediately reached over, putting an arm around his son's shoulders.

"Okay, no pressure or anything, but do you need to talk about somethin'?"

Kurt shook his head once, and burrowed closer to his father's side. Burt couldn't help himself – he squeezed him tightly in a half-hug.

A hard flinch and sharp intake of breath made him drop his arm. As soon as he did, Kurt hunched in, shifting with pain clearly outlined in his features – but trying to look casual, to play it off as nothing.

Burt was so not buying it.

"What the hell happened today?" he asked worriedly, moving so he could face his kid directly, reaching up with a gentle hand to try and discover what Kurt was hiding.

Kurt flinched away again. "I pulled something at Glee practise a couple of days ago. It's nothing."

"Yeah? Every time you tell me it's nothing, _I know_ it's something. So either tell me or I start diallin' Mercedes' number – I've done it before, and you know she'll tell me –"

"That's incredibly low of you," Kurt sighed out, but he began to take off his yellow sweater/jacket thing. "You're not going to like it. Can't you just trust me when I say I've got it covered?"

"No, I can't – and not because you're not trustworthy – but because I'm your dad and I need to know if there's something going on. Now hurry up before I get your girl on the line."

Kurt gave him another one of those tired looks from beneath heavy lids. Then he yanked off the sweater he had been wearing _under_ the other yellow one, and _geez,_ how did he not sweat through all those layers? When he reached his shirt he was more careful, wincing slightly as he undid the buttons. Burt knew this was going to be bad, and he'd seen Kurt come home with a couple of nasty bruises before, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him when Kurt sat there, in a sleeveless undershirt, horrible black and yellow marks doting his arms almost everywhere.

"Fuck," he swore without restraint. "Kurt –"

Kurt sighed again, turning his head away. "It's my back, actually. I . . . hurt it a couple of days ago, like I said. But it's –" He tried to pull his shirt back on, but Burt wasn't having it – he tugged it out of his son's hands, eyes narrowing.

"Lemme see the damage."

Kurt tried to object but Burt just crossed his arms and glared. Maybe his son had been doing more of the 'taking care' bit for the last little while, but that didn't mean Kurt was suddenly capable of handling everything on his own, whatever he may think, and Burt sure as hell wasn't going to let him get away with hiding things like this.

Kurt was biting his lip, still looking pained and so very exhausted. "Okay – but don't get mad. I'm sure it looks worse than it is."

_That_ did _not_ make him feel better. When Kurt turned completely, Burt was already catching a glimpse of the horrible black and blue, his stomach twisting hard and fast. Then Kurt haltingly hiked the thin white material up, and_ all_ of Burt's insides clenched horribly and tightly. _God._ The bruise spanned from the middle of his back and up towards his shoulders; it was so ugly and stark on his son's pale skin.

Burt felt his eyes widen until they started watering, and he reflexively put a hand out, wanting to make it better, knowing perfectly damn well he couldn't. "Jesus _Christ_ . . ."

It was excruciating to look at, and a blind fury, one that he had never known before, rose up in him. The phone was in his hand before he even registered reaching for it.

"No, dad, no complaining to Figgins," Kurt insisted, taking the phone from him in one swift move.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do about this!" Burt hissed, his voice sounding raw. "This isn't like a slushy or a dumpster toss, which already had me wantin' to rake those punks over the coals – this is pure _violence_. God damnit, I'm _this close_ to skipping over that useless principal and just calling the_ police_. I won't let these assholes –"

"_Asshole_ actually – singular – the rest of the jocks stick to what they know – the slushies mostly. There haven't been any dumpster tosses in a while. I think Puck actually –"

"I don't _care._" Burt made a grab for the phone, but Kurt tossed the cordless onto the other couch and held onto his father's shoulders.

"Dad, listen to me – this is far more complicated than you realize. I mean, I just . . . I don't know what do, it's . . ." His son's eyes were filling with tears, and his hands fell away to rake through his hair. To _mess up his hair_. Burt watched, stunned and horrified, as this unkempt boy before him started to sob.

Burt wanted to hug him close again, but he was so damn angry that he was _shaking_ and what with Kurt's back, Burt didn't want to risk hurting his kid further. _Goddamn_, he just couldn't stand this. He took in three deep breaths before reaching a slightly less trembling hand out to his son, who thankfully threw himself at his father, making it easier for Burt to embrace him. He kept his touch as gentle as possible, and when Kurt calmed down enough to pull away, Burt felt his own anger settle down to a simmer – he was pissed off enough to punch through a wall, but it was under control. For now.

"He's . . . incredibly more screwed up than I am," Kurt said finally, after a too long silence.

Burt blinked, his brain scattered by too much heartache and rage. "You mean . . . the guy who did this to you?"

Kurt nodded, picking up one of the dozens of blankets he kept around the living room – leftovers from Burt's endless days on the couch – and wrapping it around his shoulders.

"He . . . he's always been one of the worst ones – him and his buddy. They've picked on Finn and the other Glee kids horribly too, and in a weird way, that made me feel better, but lately . . . Karofsky, he's been _brutal_. And I always chalked it up to ignorance and general asshattery, but it just got harder and harder to take it, dad. I mean, really, _why_ is it so important to keep me down?" Kurt looked up at this father imploringly, and Burt really wished he didn't know the answer to that question, but he did, at least partially, from personal experience.

"Because it makes him feel tough, makes all of them feel tough, being able to keep someone in line like that. All of that crap about machoness and whatever – well, it's not _all_ crap. Some guys are just douches with nothing better to do other than to make other kids' miserable 'cause it makes 'em feel big and strong. It's stupid as hell, and I promise you, kiddo, that it isn't your fault in any way."

"And the fact that I'm gay, dad?" Kurt asked dryly. "I'm sure that has nothing to do with it, right?"

Burt swallowed. "Yeah, then you have those ignorant jackasses who really have a screw loose, and think they're doing society – or even more stupidly, _you_ – a favour. Think you're wrong, think you're a disgrace or pathetic – but don't you _dare_ start believing that they have a point or that –"

"No, no, I know they're idiots," Kurt cut in, smiling gratefully. "Thank you, dad, but I know exactly what I am, and what that means, and I know it isn't any of those things. That's what makes Karofsky so . . ." Now Kurt was the one swallowing hard, and for some reason, the tears were back. "I understand and I don't understand, and I'm so pissed off that he won't _admit it_, if only to himself, and just _leave me the fuck alone_." The vehemence in that last statement took Burt aback – he'd never heard his son so furious.

Kurt wiped away a tear with frustration. "He's such a damn moron, and I want to feel sorry for him, but I can't, not after all the crap he's put me through, all because he can't deal with the truth."

Burt was lost, and he couldn't keep up with Kurt's ramblings. "Son –"

"He's taken so much from me, and now he's taken _this_ too, and a part of me wants to punch him, shove him into a locker, and I would, if I didn't think he would kill me –"

"Kurt! What are you –"

"That bully, that _bastard_, had the nerve to-to actually _kiss_ me as if –"

"Wait, _**what**__?!_" Burt hadn't meant to sound so outraged – well, yes, he did, but not to the point that it made Kurt jump and scramble back slightly.

"Are you," he began slowly, because he really couldn't wrap his mind around this, "telling me that this . . . punk little son of a bitch . . . _**kissed**_ you?"

Kurt's lips were a thin line, but he nodded and that was it: Burt was officially beyond angry. This was rage, pure and simple, and all he could think in the midst of the red-hot fury was _I'm going to murder that punk, right now._

"Dad, no." Kurt was pushing him back down onto the couch, sitting on the coffee table now – something he would never do, normally – and leaning in close. "Dad, calm down –"

"Calm down? _Calm down!_ You're telling me that this asshole assaulted you and I'm suppose to _calm_ –"

Kurt raised a hand, pleading for silence, and Burt gave it to him, but just barely. The vibrating anger was back, and Kurt was looking worried, a hand on Burt's wrist, taking his pulse. He forced himself to take the fury down a notch, but it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Then his son took in a deep breath. "It . . . it wasn't, I mean . . . it wasn't assault –"

"Did you want him to kiss you?" Burt demanded. "'Cause if that's a 'no', then that makes it _assault_."

"That's not the point." Kurt's hands were in his hair again. "It wasn't even a question because it would never, in any dimension of space or time, have occurred to me that Dave Karofsky would be a closet case – and a closet case attracted to me, no less. I'm still having trouble absorbing this and it's been a day or two – when he tried to kiss me again I almost –"

Burt made a sound that may or may not have been a low growl, but Kurt only gave him a warning look, hand back on his pulse point, squeezing lightly before continuing. "I tried to confront him about it later but he just, he's so angry, so in denial, and the locker shoving hasn't stopped and the way he looked at me today, like he was _proving _something to me. That he could beat the gay out himself, by beating me up. It's . . . this complicates things, and I don't want to . . . He's an asshole, and I _hate_ him, but he's also so lost, dad and I . . . I lied – maybe I do feel sorry for him too. Like, _minutely_. But it's there."

Burt had to force himself not to fly off the couch and do _something_. Kurt just kept watching him with those gleaming eyes of his, and Burt had to grasp one small, long fingered hand in his to help keep his calm. Kurt smiled a weak, half-smile. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you on the day that it happened but dad, it just came out of nowhere and it scared me. I went to . . . someone else, a friend, to help me out, because I thought he could . . . Anyways, doesn't matter, point being –"

"Point being, from now on, you're going to tell me everything," he said quietly in response, as sternly as he could. "You're going to tell me each and every time that bastard touches you. And if he _ever_ tries to kiss you or . . . if he _ever_ tries something like that again, I am callin' the police. Because it _is_ an assault, Kurt, it _is_."

Kurt breathed out heavily through his nose. "Okay. Now, please calm yourself down, because _I'm_ about to call 911. If you have another heart attack because of me . . ."

Burt leaned back onto the couch. "I'm fine, kiddo. We're playing it your way for now. I know that sometimes calling attention to these things, especially when you know the people in charge are going to do jack squat about it, makes it all worse. That damn principal, and those damn teachers – I mean, even Schuester I bet, hasn't tried –"

"Well, he did try talking to me," Kurt offered. "It was the first time anyone on staff has ever tried to help me. I think I could go to him if it gets any worse, and he'll try –"

"Like he's been tryin' all this time?" Burt ground out. "Don't get me wrong, kiddo, you go to your teachers, to your principal, when shit like this happens, but you make sure you tell me too, 'cause I don't trust them to do anything other than what they've been doing so far – which is jack squat."

"Yeah . . . okay," Kurt conceded, sighing and resuming his position on the couch, on his side, his forehead on his dad's shoulder.

They sat in silence for a long time.

Burt knew his heart was straining under the weight of so much anger, but another feeling was pulling at him too, making his eyes burn and his breathing uneven, because aside from wanting to commit some serious acts of violence, and feeling physically pained by all the crap his son had to put up with . . .

He was scared.

Scared, like he'd been when he got a phone call from a deep voice telling him his son was a fag. Scared like he'd been when Kurt came home, clothes stained from his first dumpster toss, and then all the times after, when he'd come back wearing a different outfit than the one he'd left the house in. Like he'd been in the first years after his wife died, and Kurt came home crying his eyes out after school one day because some little jerks had made fun of him for wearing his mother's nail polish.

Scared like he'd been when his son was three years old, and asking him clearly and eagerly for a pair of sensible high heels.

A homophobic jackass jock was one thing – and a pretty predictable one at that – one that he hated to admit he was incredibly familiar with. A self-hating homophobic, closet-case jock asshole that may actually have some kind of . . . _crush_ on his son? That was terrifying and completely out of left field.

Kurt sat up eventually, clearing his throat. "I, uh, I have homework to do." He was gathering up his clothes and bag as he spoke, shrugging the blanket off his shoulders and standing gingerly, doing a horrible job at covering up another wince. Guilt was pulling at Burt now – how could he not have noticed this? It had happened two days ago and Kurt must've been hurting and he, his father, hadn't _seen_ it. _What's wrong with me, this is my son – how could I have missed all this? This is__** my boy**__, damn it, mine and my wife's baby boy, how Goddamn dare they! _Another series of deep breaths were needed to calm a resurgence of that blazing anger, that need for justice and vengeance.

Burt let him go, reluctantly, giving his hand a soft squeeze as Kurt walked around him to head to his bedroom. Kurt paused, grasping his father's hand between both of his own for a moment before finally leaving.

Burt sat on the couch, waiting until he heard the basement door shut – the second he did, he was standing and picking the phone up from the sofa Kurt had tossed it onto.

His fingers hesitated over the keypad as he rummaged around the kitchen for the numbers to Kurt's school that he only had half-memorized. He wasn't sure which one to call first – Figgins or Schuester (if only to leave an angry rant in the teacher's mailbox) – but both were going to get a talking to before the week was out. He needed to put the fear of God in them because if anything happened to his boy as a result of their dumbass inaction . . . there wasn't enough hurt in the world to compare with what he would put them through.

As he dialed the first number that he came across, he considered looking up the all-boys school Kurt had been at; if all else failed, he was transferring Kurt, money issues be damned – _no one_ could put a price on the safety and well-being of his son that he wouldn't be willing to pay.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Just . . . geez, I honestly have no words for yesterday's episode. There were some good things about it, some not-so-good things, but I had to get this particular bug out of my system 'cause . . . yeah, wow.

I'm not too sure where Glee is going with this, but I hope they go down at least a semi-realistic route (or as realistic as Glee can get, anyways). I see lots of great things that could come out of this storyline . . . and lots of bad things too . . . I'll reserve judgement 'til we actually see it develop.

And for some reason, Kurt didn't mention Blaine to his father in this conversation. I had every intention of his doing so and then it just . . . didn't happen. I leave that up to your own interpretation, 'cause I don't know why that happened :P

Anyways, as always, thanks in advance for any and all readers that stop by! Comments and critiques are always welcome!

**Edit: Guess what? **There is now another chapter (with more to follow, because like I said: this episode has eaten my brains like a mad zombie)

Next chapter we have some Will Schuester POV as he tries to be the good teacher we all really want him to be.


	2. Worn Out Places

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Worn Out Places_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Will Schuester knew that he wasn't doing everything he could for Kurt Hummel and what happened with Shannon Bieste only made it even more apparent. He walked away from that feeling both elated and heartbroken, because she truly was an amazing woman and deserved more than what he had given her.

At the end of it all he saw Kurt, standing out from everyone else in his bright yellow sweater, sitting on the floor after what had to have been yet _another_ locker slamming, and he instantly felt nausea creep up and overwhelm him.

Kurt was haughty and disdainful at times. He could be a bigger diva than Rachel (or well, 'as big as' would probably be more accurate) and confrontational besides; he never hesitated to speak his mind, and rarely tempered his words when expressing his frustration or anger. While all of that could at times rub Will the wrong way, right then, sitting on the floor with his knees pressed to his chest, Kurt looked resigned and so world-weary it was almost bizarre to see such an old expression on such a youthful face. He looked lost too – confused in a way that was really inconsistent with everything Will knew about his student.

He watched as Kurt gathered himself and his things together, making his way slowly down the hall, heading out to the parking lot.

Will wanted to reach out and help him, but he honestly didn't know how, beyond some of the limited action he'd already been taking, without his Glee kids' knowledge.

Kurt had accused him of letting things slide, and Will admitted to himself that this was true. However, being around his Glee club had been teaching him some pretty huge lessons – and not all of them were of the uplifting sort.

When he first realized that Kurt's problems were more specific than the general 'Get the Gleeks' abuse that his other students were suffering under, he'd gone to Figgins.

_"You do realize how potentially serious the situation is with Kurt Hummel, right?" Will had pointed out after a long conversation about the types of lawsuits that would ensue if the principal didn't impose stricter punishments on those who thought stealing Artie's wheelchair would be 'funny'._

_"Situation?" Figgins had asked distractedly, clearing assuming that their meeting was over._

_"Yes, situation – his bullies . . . I think their slurs are dangerous, and my kids only just stopped them from seriously hurting him a few days ago." Will felt a smile twitch at his lips as he recalled the truly impressive sight of the Glee club in all their Gaga and KISS glory scaring those jocks away from one of their own._

_"Now, William, don't exaggerate –"_

_"I am not exaggerating!" Will exclaimed, frustrated as he often was when in this man's office. "Finn Hudson told me they were going to beat Kurt up – we're talking about assault."_

_"But it didn't happen, Will – and you haven't provided me with proof that it will." Figgins shuffled around a few papers, peering at Will over the top of them. "Kurt Hummel has never filed any complaints with us, or gone to any member of the staff for help or advice. I can't take any action based on something that you didn't actually see, and more than that, didn't actually happen."_

_Will had been about to launch into yet another tirade about lawsuits since that seemed to be the only tactic that worked with this horribly dense man. He never get the chance, though, because right at that moment, Sue Sylvester had marched in, an angry litany bursting forth about the school nurse providing aspirin to a Cheerio with a headache even though Sue had a strict no 'performance distracters' of any kind, and deplored anything that muffled the pain she imposed on her Cheerios in order to keep them obedient._

_He ducked out of the office before he could get caught in the crossfire, and he'd filed the Kurt issue away for another day._

Will had completely forgotten about it, he was ashamed to admit. He hadn't really thought too much about what Kurt was going through until his father's heart attack brought him back to the forefront of his thoughts.

In-between his own bouts of selfishness (particularly his Rocky Horror plot to win back Emma) he kept one eye on his student and eventually approached him only a few days back when Kurt was looking completely depressed and resigned to his fate. It was at that point that Kurt had plainly stated that Will and others at the school were letting it all happen.

Will had to agree with that assessment now. Kurt shouldn't have had to fight this alone – he was just a kid, and while standing his ground and keeping his head held high was something every kid should practice in that situation, that didn't mean it was on them, on Kurt, to curtail the bully's behaviour. It was on the adults in positions of authority. He was going to do right by Kurt from now on – he deserved better. Just like Shannon.

It had only been an hour since school had let out, and there were a few kids and teachers still around, naturally, those involved with clubs and sports' meetings, the marking of assignments, waiting for rides or just generally lingering for no other reason than boredom. There was no time like the present for getting things done. Will abandoned a pile of lackluster Spanish quizzes and headed for Figgins' office.

The principal was on the phone, holding his head in one hand.

"Yes, Mr. Hummel, I understand."

Will paused in his determined steps, letting the door swing shut behind him. He should've seen this coming.

"Yes, I . . . no, of course not, but you must –"

Will could hear Burt Hummel's voice going up several notches in volume, and though he couldn't make out the exact words, the tone was clear enough. It made him smile a bit. The first reason for that was because it was reassuring to have the reminder that yes, Burt Hummel was the type of man who would go to hell and back for his son – Kurt wasn't without support at home. The second reason was less sentimental; Mr. Hummel letting his displeasure be known might have made it easier for Will to get through to Principal Figgins this time.

He sat down on one of the chairs before Figgins' desk, waiting patiently, fighting hard to keep the smile completely off his face. Mr. Hummel had never seemed particularly long-winded to him, but it appeared that anything to do with Kurt sparked the orator in the man. Will wished he could hear what was being said.

Figgins eventually hung up, though it was clear by the fact that he was left hanging mid-sentence that he wasn't the first to do so. Will gave the principal a few minutes to gather himself, out of common courtesy, and when he felt enough time had passed, he kicked off their impromptu meeting.

"So, I take it Mr. Hummel is phoning on behalf of his son?" Will asked, the smile he'd been holding back manifesting itself in his voice.

The other man's stare was distinctly unamused. "Yes, Will, that was the case. How can I help you?"

"Actually, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to talk about probably the same thing that Mr. Hummel was filling your ears with. Because I did try to tell you months ago, last school year, that Kurt's situation was getting dangerous, and things have been escalating ever since – and the situation isn't limited to Kurt, either."

Figgins sighed. "Yes, William, I know. But I've told you before – there is little I can do without an actual complaint and since young Mr. Hummel hasn't come forward –"

"Pardon me, sir, but that's absolutely ridiculous – you've punished kids for far less than what those bullying jocks have been doing to Kurt, and with far less evidence."

"And _if_ things get serious –"

"And you consider putting a wheelchair student in a porta-potty and rolling it . . . what? A good-natured prank? Are you going to wait until Kurt is in the nurse's office bleeding or unconscious? Until he's hospitalized? Tell me what it's going to take to get you to _do something_."

Figgins raised his hands in supplication. "I tried to put the motion of a 'zero tolerance' policy to the school board, but it's a complicated thing to implement, and there were many objections, from both them and some parents who felt that it was an extreme reaction to something they viewed as a minimal problem –"

"_Minimal?_" Now Will was offended not just on Kurt's behalf, but for all his Glee kids, and many others who he'd seen slushied and pushed into lockers. It had taken him a while to figure out the dumpster toss thing, and when he did, he did what he could, but he couldn't stand guard by the dumpsters all day. There were only so many detentions he could give out. "But, you do have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to sexual harassment and other types of lewd behaviour? Which is fine, but don't you realize that the bullying in this school is getting out of control, making it just as important, if not more so?"

McKinley's principal suddenly looked very tired. "You know something, Will? I agree with you – the climate in this school is getting to be tense . . . but my hands are tied and quite frankly, Mr. Hummel is one student –"

"Who is in _danger!_" Will finally exploded. "He is in actual, physical danger within these school walls and this is _not_ the way it is supposed to be – not a _single_ student should be afraid to walk to their locker or to class because they might be _assaulted_ on their way there, and not just in the overtly violent way Kurt has been – but with slushies, or dumpster tosses. You should be doing everything in your power to make sure that is the case because if not, one of these days someone is going to get seriously injured and it will be all _our_ fault – the faculty's fault and the school board's because as of right now, we are not meeting even the most basic requirements at keeping our students safe!"

He stood up, not even waiting to hear Figgins' next round of excuses, but just before he left, he turned to face the man again. "Tell me something, sir, and I'm sorry for being so blunt, but do you have a problem with the fact that Kurt Hummel is gay? Is that why you're not giving this the attention you should?"

Figgins slammed his hands down onto the desk. "Do not bring my personal beliefs into this, Will Schuester – while I may believe in things that you do not . . ." The vampire incident with Tina came to mind, and Will just barely held back an eye roll. "I most certainly do not hold any racist or homophobic views."

Will stared at the man for a long time, not sure if he believed him or not. Either way, it didn't matter, because for now he was making absolutely zero headway. As he walked away, he began to plot in his own head. Maybe he could get his Glee kids in on this, implement his own little no tolerance policy – it probably would be nowhere near as effective as an official one would be, but he had to do _something_.

He got to his office, exhaling one long breath as he stared at the stack of quizzes he was supposed to be marking. He decided to finish them off at home. As he was packing he paused over his agenda, full of lessons plans, important dates . . . and phone numbers, such as the school board's. With grim determination, he finished gathering up what he needed.

A part of him, a small part, was wondering if maybe, just maybe, he was overreacting. He let that fester for a moment as he closed his office door and headed to his car. He grabbed his cell phone from his jacket pocket, flipping it back on. A series of beeps let him know that he had some voice mail waiting.

He punched in what he needed to in order to access his voice mailbox and froze in his tracks as Burt Hummel's low, threatening tones filled his ear.

The tiny, niggling doubt in him vanished.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Okay, so apparently I still have more stuff to get out of my system in relation to this episode. It's just so relentless, this new-found inspiration . . . and it helps that I'm in a temporary lull (the calm before the storm) when it comes to school . . . Which, speaking of, I have very little idea as to how the implementation of a 'zero tolerance' policy works – I do remember when I was still in elementary school and through most of my high school years, there was a great deal of debate in my city about those polices – and an equal number of people for and against.

There shall be, I think, at least two or three more chapters – I have the next one halfway written, and another couple in my head.

_Thank you_ to everyone who read and/or reviewed what they thought was a one-shot – hope you like this as well! I'll reply to all of your reviews from the first part as soon as I get back - I've gotta head out to an appointment.

Next up, we have Mercedes – there has been far too little of her in the past while on Glee, so I shall now fix that for myself.

And after Mercedes . . . I think we shall go to one of the bullies, though I'm not saying which :)


	3. Worn Out Faces

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Worn Out Faces_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Mercedes' eyes narrowed as she waited by Kurt's locker at the end of second period. She caught sight of him at the other end of the hall, watching him fiddling with his phone, smiling happily at something.

While it was nice to see her boy actually smile, she was still a little annoyed with him. They were suppose to go out for lunch the day before and it had been important to her – she had really needed her best friend to talk to (and still did). He had totally ditched her, with no phone call or text to let her know why, which ticked her off (though, okay, the semi-lap dance during _Stop! In the Name of Love/Free Your Mind_ had made her laugh and lessened her annoyance). It had been a long time since they'd actually just sat and chilled together, so it stung when he didn't show.

She couldn't explain why or how it had happened, only that they hadn't been talking too often or spending as much time together. Homework had been a lot heavier this year, and she had to try harder to get the usual As and Bs in her classes, but she was always willing to drop everything to be with Kurt, and he hadn't once asked her. She knew he had the time – most of these classes Kurt passed without even really trying, something that both irritated her to no end and made her really proud of him.

She was just about to call out to Kurt as he finally put the phone in his pocket, when Karofsky and Azimio came out of nowhere, tripping him and shoving him. Kurt hit the floor hard. They didn't even look down at him – just high-fived each other and kept right on walking. _Nice to see the duo back together again_, she grumbled silently to herself. Azimio had been off for family reasons, according to Jewfro's blog – either a wedding or a funeral, she couldn't remember which. Mercedes had been glad for the break; there had still been Karofsky and others, of course, but having one less to deal with had been slightly relaxing._ Well, that's over now._

Mercedes grit her teeth, pushing her way through the crowds of students, most of which barely cast a glance at the boy on the ground. It made her want to go off on more than a few of them, but she held her tongue, because that's the way things were in this school. She and the rest of the outcasts got pushed around and slushied, and no one did a damn thing about it.

It looked like Kurt had been taking more knocks than ever, though, and that had been way more violent than she was used to seeing.

She reached Kurt just as he was struggling to pick himself up, hobbling a little and she could see a bright red mark high on his cheek – he must've slammed his face into the floor. It was definitely going to bruise, she realized with a sharp stab of anger. He was limping and so she helped him make his away over and out of the way of the hordes of students, back to his locker.

"Thanks," he said quietly, shifting his shoulder strap, grimacing as he opened his locker and began to shove books in. "That was unpleasant."

She snorted. "No kidding. You okay? You look . . . hurt – I think you should go to the school nurse."

He shook his head, licking his lips nervously. "Not necessary, I assure you. I'll take care of it when I get home."

"Look, Kurt –"

"Mercedes, it's fine – now how about we head to lunch?" He was picking through a couple of shirts now, looking distracted.

"Yeah, about that." Mercedes suddenly remembered why she had been hanging around in the first place. "You totally left me high and dry yesterday, Hummel – what was up with that?"

Kurt blinked for a few seconds, clearly not knowing what she was talking about, then the light bulb came on, just as her irritation resurfaced and she prepared to tear him a new one.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, yesterday was . . . was not a good day and I was . . . preoccupied with something. I completely forgot."

His eyes were doing that wide, blue, puppy-eyed thing, and damn it, she was such a sucker for them. _Gah, the little – wait a minute._

"Who's that?" she asked abruptly.

"What? Who?"

"_That!_" She pointed at the picture of the cute boy in Kurt's locker. That had most definitely not been there before. It looked like it was a school photo, which meant this boy was real – of the non-celebrity/character in a TV show sort. Real, like Finn had been and – _oh no_. Kurt tried to quickly close his locker, but she reached out with one hand, holding it open. The word 'courage' was spelled out too but she was more worried about this new guy Kurt might be focusing on to try and puzzle out what the word meant or referred to.

"Kurt, tell me this isn't another straight boy because, I'm sorry, honey but –"

"He's – he's not a . . . he's . . . a friend. I met him when I went to spy on Dalton. So . . ." He was stumbling over his words, and that immediately set alarm bells off, because lying or telling the truth, Kurt rarely got this tongue-tied – not unless he was really messed up about something or really confused. Or both.

She studied the picture, taking in the uniform and kind smile. "He seems nice."

Kurt's eyes lit up. "He is. Oh, and Dalton was _incredible_. They have these uniforms, which I wouldn't normally consider a plus, but somehow . . . While being so restrained in my clothing choices would be tragic, they are quite flattering all the same, and the glee club there is like the pinnacle of cool –"

Mercedes couldn't help grinning at his rambling enthusiasm. "It sounds great, Kurt." She felt her smile fading as some of his words sunk in. "But you're talkin' like you're going to be heading there sometime soon – is there something going on?"

Kurt's smile disappeared too, and he went back to moving things around in his locker. "No, I'm not transferring to Dalton. My dad couldn't afford it and besides, however fashionably acceptable those uniforms are, do you really think I could handle wearing the same outfit every day with little to no variation?"

Mercedes took in his answer but she didn't believe it, at least not one hundred percent. Kurt wasn't lying about his dad not being able to afford it – few people could – but she bet Mr. Hummel would do it if Kurt really wanted to go. She pushed the thought of her best friend transferring aside; there was another thing that was bugging her.

"What happened yesterday? I mean, what got you so distracted?"

Kurt's frown deepened and he was clearly avoiding eye contact. "Just the usual. I had a momentary dark spell after a particularly brutal locker slam. My back's a bit bruised up, that's why I'm rather sore today. And it was just . . . it was just one time too many. It happens. There's only so much abuse one can take, you know that, Mercedes."

She didn't want to say 'bullshit' because everything Kurt was saying was true, but she also knew that he wasn't telling her everything. The way he refused to look her in the eye told a story all its own – she needed details, or else she was going to start imagining a whole bunch of worst-case scenarios.

"C'mon." She slammed his locker shut for him, dragging him down the hall, ignoring his squeak of protest. She marched and pulled him along until she reached a rarely visited girls' bathroom near the principal's office, shoving Kurt in and then locking the door behind her.

He gave her a disdainful look. "Really? A bathroom intervention?"

"Shut up, pretty boy – you are lying to me, and I don't like it." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, standing straight and firm. "Now, it's cool that you don't tell me every little thing about your life, Kurt, but this, whatever this is, I can tell it's bugging you, and if you can't talk to me – your best friend – then –"

"Look, you don't have to do this," Kurt said absently, looking as though he wasn't interested one way or the other, rummaging through his bag. "I know things have been distant between us lately –"

"Hey! Don't put that all on me – maybe I haven't been callin' you as often, but it's not like you've been dialing me up either!"

Kurt's indifferent front wavered, and he looked up at her, stopping his pretend search for something in his messenger bag. "You're right – sorry. I guess what I'm trying to say is people drift apart, and I can understand if you want to make yourself less of a target by –"

"No, no, and no." That both hurt and offended her, and so she stuck a finger in his face, hissing out, "Tell me you are not accusing me of dropping you as part of some lame-ass attempt at getting a couple slushies less thrown in my face, 'cause I may actually have to bitch-slap you. We've just been busy, and bad friends to each other for the last little while – and guess what? It ends now." She dropped the finger, straightening her gorgeous emerald green sweater, a sweater Kurt had helped her pick out. "Talk to me. Please." Her voice was far gentler, and she coupled it with a sweet smile, because she did love this stubborn brat.

Quite suddenly, he was back – the Kurt that few people got to see, the one she felt privileged to know, all boyish smiles, twinkling baby blues and that edge of vulnerability. There was no tough diva front up at all.

"I've missed you, Mercedes."

She was _not_ going to cry, because it would be stupid. It was not like they'd been completely without each other or . . . _ah, damn it all. _She grabbed him up in a hug, sniffing quietly to herself, blinking rapidly. "Yeah, yeah." She stepped back, hands on his shoulders. "But I want you to tell me 'cause I know something's off with you, and I'm worried. Do I have to call your dad? 'Cause you know that I will!"

Kurt laughed for a minute, shaking his head. "Oh wow, you have spent far too much time over at my house – you even _sound_ like him."

"You're still not answering me, King of Evasion."

Kurt inhaled, sighing out his exhale. "Okay. If there's any one in the world to tell, other than my dad – who already knows before you start nagging about that – it's you. But Mercedes, you have to promise me that this never, _ever_ gets out. And I mean _never_. I know you tell your parents everything, but this time, you need to not even _hint_ at this, okay?"

Mercedes felt the beginnings of fear mingling with her worry, "Kurt, tell me flat out – is this, like a drug or eating disorder thing? 'Cause I can't promise to keep quiet about –"

"No, no," he said quickly. "Nothing like that. The problem is that part of this isn't even technically _my_ secret."

Mercedes nodded, understanding. "Oh, I get it, so it's not just about you. All right, not a word."

"I mean it! None of the slips I know you're prone to, like a certain '_oops, Puck's the baby-daddy_,' multiplied by members of Glee. You can't accidently blurt this out to _anybody._"

He was so adamant about it that Mercedes was getting nervous. "Okay, okay! Just tell me! God, the suspense is getting crazy!"

Kurt took in another breath, leaning his hip against one of the sinks. "Yesterday, when we were suppose to meet for lunch, I was trying to stage an intervention of sorts, for Karofsky."

Mercedes stared, and then stared some more. "Um, what?"

"Blaine – that boy in the picture – he came down from Dalton to help me out, because . . ." Kurt was looking both scared and confused – and tired, but that seemed to be his standard state these past few weeks; there was a gnawing guilt lingering in her mind for not doing something about it. He opened his mouth again, but all that came out was, "Oh God." His hands went straight to his hair – he dropped them a split second before they could mess up his perfect coiffure. Mercedes reached over and snagged one of those hands in her own, and he shot her a grateful look. "Right, there's no way this isn't going to sound like a big, melodramatic soap opera reveal, but here it is regardless – Karofsky's gay."

"_What?_" she blurted out instantly. "No way. No way in hell! Where did you even –"

"I swear, Mercedes, he's gay! I mean, he's so far in the closet that he's taking tea with a faun, but gay nonetheless." Kurt tilted his head, his lips pursed as he thought for a moment, adding, "If he's not, then at the very least he's seriously confused – but there's no denying he feels a certain level of attraction to the same sex."

Mercedes knew her mouth was hanging open, but she just couldn't wrap her brain around this. _What? _seemed to be the only clear thought in her head. "Kurt." She tried to speak, stopped, and then tried again. "Kurt, how did you even find out?"

Kurt's expressive face took on several different emotions – Mercedes could pick out the fear, the embarrassment, the weariness – but the rest went by too quickly. However, one thing she could easily see was that unique brand of Kurt Hummel hurt that was staring at her from those eyes. She had dropped his hand when he'd told her his shocking bit of news, but she reached for it again. "It's okay, Kurt, just talk to me."

He gripped her hand tightly, leaving no room for her to let go. "A couple of days ago he pushed me into the lockers – hard. I wasn't lying about that. It hurt and I thought of Blaine – he'd been telling me to take a stand, and that time . . . it was that 'one time too many'. I was more than ready to take the guy on."

"Oh Kurt – you could've . . ." Her eyes roamed his figure. "Wait, did you lie to me earlier about the locker thing being why you're all sore and stuff? Did he hurt you beyond that? Oh, _hell_ –"

"No, I . . ." He swallowed. "I followed him to the locker room, and I gave him a piece of my mind. He threatened me, as usual, but just as I was really ripping into him he . . ." Kurt's eyes had been getting wider and wider as he spoke. "He . . . grabbed me and . . . he kissed me."

If Mercedes had been shocked into incoherence before, her brain completely broke this time. It was too much, it was way too much and so _unreal._ She couldn't even picture it – it was just that _out there_. She could imagine any number of messed up things – Mr. Schue doing the nasty with Sue Sylvester, Puck taking a vow of celibacy alongside Santana . . . but the image of Karofsky macking on her boy just _wouldn't come_.

It was a possibility that she had never, ever, _ever _imagined, but Kurt would never make something like that up – and why the hell would he? It would not even subconsciously occur to any one at McKinley High that Dave Karofsky was . . . _gay, bi, confused, whatever the hell this is! _She managed to gather herself enough to put it all into context. Once the shock settled in (though not going anywhere because _holy hell Karofsky was gay and he kissed Kurt!_), she felt something sharp and hot bubbling up in her. "Hold up. This puck-headed asshole who's been pushing you around and tripping and slamming you into lockers and the floor – he grabbed you and kissed you? Meaning . . . what, that he _likes_ you?"

Kurt looked vaguely ill. "Please don't say that. I really don't believe in the whole 'pulling pigtails' thing."

Mercedes shook her head vehemently. "No way – that crap isn't pulling pigtails or knocking down your block towers – this is way more messed up! The guy can't even be honest about who he is, let alone who he likes, and he just . . . he _kisses _you! Out of _nowhere_!"

"And he tried again," Kurt said miserably. "He leaned in again and I –"

"Oh, hell no!" Now she understood the fire in her veins – she was _angry_. "Oh fucking hell no. I'm sorry, he's still slamming you around lockers and crap and that is just . . . sick, Kurt. That's _dangerous_. He's repressing a whole ton and what if one day he just _snaps_ again and tries to kiss you like, hardcore? Or –"

"He stopped himself," Kurt cut her off. "I mean, he leaned in a second time, but I pushed him away and he didn't try again. He didn't try and force himself on me."

"Except for that one kiss that you clearly didn't want."

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath; she could faintly hear the word 'dad.' Then he spoke clearly to her. "Mercedes, are you listening? He kissed me once out of some sort of . . . I don't know, but he didn't throw me down on the locker room floor and –"

"I'm going to stop you right there because just the _thought_ of that makes me want to hunt the son of bitch down and unman him with a dull and rusty knife."

Kurt let out a snort, covering his mouth with his free hand. His other hand was wrapped around Mercedes' hand, except now she was the one with the death grip on him. She understood why Kurt was freaked out, and she was freaking out too – mostly on the inside, because Kurt didn't need to see how afraid she was.

"Why don't we just out the –"

"Are you crazy?" Kurt asked incredulously. "He's like a powder keg, waiting to explode – he can't admit to himself what he is, or might be, because he's suppose to be a gay-bashing bully! And really, who would believe it? They'd just accuse us of spreading rumours and that I was desperate for a boyfriend or whatever. I'm not interested in setting off something that will invariably lead to far more trouble in the long run."

Mercedes stared at him incredulously, her mind humming with possibilities and plans and fear. "Kurt, we can't just do _nothing_."

"Yes, yes we can, for now," he insisted. "This is why I made you promise not to say anything. It's not my secret – it's his. And it's messed, I know, I don't owe the neanderthal anything, but I've been thinking about it and . . . you didn't see him. He's the epitome of _screwed up_. There has to be a reason for that. I have an amazing dad – maybe he's not so lucky."

Mercedes wanted to say she didn't give a rat's ass as to who Karofsky had as a father, or mother, or dog – because she didn't – but Kurt was so earnest, and she could see that he'd been going over this again and again in his own head. He'd made his point, stubborn jerk that he was. None of this was sitting well with her but she honestly had no idea what was the right thing to do here. She was lost and anxious, and so damn worried about Kurt.

"Okay, we go your way for now. But damn, I see or hear anything I don't like, I'm going straight to your dad – since he probably took out the shotgun and started cleaning it like, right after you told him – and Mr. Schue, and Figgins. And then I'm going to find a dull and rusty knife. Just in case. I may even do that when I get home today."

Kurt grinned. "Maybe he'll end up singing in my key after your surgery?"

Mercedes kissed him fondly on the cheek. "Baby, _no one_ can sing like you."

Kurt wrapped his arms around her. "You are awesome. I don't know how I could be surviving this whole miserable disaster that is high school without you."

She swallowed, blinking back – _not tears, damn it_. "Me too."

He pulled away, eying her speculatively. "Now, what did you want to talk to me about yesterday? You didn't sound so great in that message you left me."

Mercedes suddenly felt embarrassed. "Oh, never mind your white boy head about it, it's just –"

Kurt shook his head, his smile distinctly mischievous. "No. Unacceptable. You made me pour out all my soul-deep problems to you. Now pay up. Return the favour."

"Well, mine is nowhere near as dramatic or scary as yours, and thank God for that, and so lemme tell you: it's nothing." She tried to escape him, but he just darted around her, blocking the bathroom door. She raised an eyebrow as he kept her from leaving. "You know, I could probably take you."

"Try," he dared her. "Let's have a throw down, whoever wins gets to spill _her_ secrets."

"Cocky skinny-ass pretty boy."

"Lay it on me, Ms. Jones. I know you wouldn't hurt me." He pouted and Mercedes had to give him a playful poke in the side, which got her an involuntary squeak. He batted her hands away, but he stayed stuck to the door, raising both his eyebrows and tilting his head at her.

Mercedes sighed, crossing her arms. "Okay. That girl, on the Cheerios? The one that's been –"

"Oh no, again?" Kurt huffed. "That anorexic bitch. I hope you told her where to stick it – namely in her mouth since she could clearly use the sustenance."

Mercedes had to smile widely at that. "She . . . she just, she gets to me sometimes, you know? Now, I know I'm too hot to handle for a lot of the wussy boys in this school." Kurt nodded at this, giving her a ridiculously exaggerated leer. She gave him another poke, and while he whined about 'low blows' she kept going. "But I ain't blind either, Kurt, since most of the girls in this school, the ones that are popular and have boyfriends, I mean –"

"Yeah, I'm going to have to stop you right there, Mercedes Jones. I know that whatever was going to follow was going to be a load of bullshit. You are one of the most beautiful people I know – and I'm not even talking about your personality and what not, which just rockets you right off the 'hotness' charts into uncharted hotness territory. So, please, take what Mindy or Candy, or whatever that insipid little girl's name is, said to you and just chalk it up to her dizzy spells from lack of food."

Mercedes bit her lip when that picture came to mind. It wasn't too long ago that a certain Cheerio's coach put them on an inhumane diet, and maybe there was some truth in Kurt's cutting comments. "Um, you don't think she's really anorexic, do you? Because –"

"See? That right there proves what an amazing woman you are – God, to actually give a crap about that mean spirited little twit is just beyond cool, Mercedes."

She felt her cheeks heating up. "Okay, okay, I get you."

"And no, she's not anorexic – I figured out that she just doesn't eat any carbs – like at all. She pigs out on salads and what not – but she doesn't go near anything that even vaguely resembles bread. Which is sad because even I, for all my anti-fattening food consumption, could never totally give up pasta. Or cheesecake."

Mercedes had to hug him again. "Well, I guess you and I are equally amazing then – 'cause that you can still give a crap about Karofsky after all the bullshit he's put you through –"

"No more about that, 'kay?" he said, muffled a bit by her hair. "I want to forget about it. And are you okay now? Did you want to talk some more? Please tell me you didn't take anything she said to heart."

"No, not really . . . it just hurts that someone would say bull like that, you know? And Kurt, it's not just her who says things like that to me."

"I know," he said quietly. "It's not just Karofsky that pushes me around or calls me names, he's just the more . . . insistent about it, I suppose. But let's forget about all this, okay? We've just agreed that we are both fabulous, and thus have no need for any more of this negativity in our lives. Or these lowly plebeians who try to bring us down."

"Agreed," said Mercedes. She waited for Kurt to straighten up from their hug (he just kept on growing and growing – sometime she wondered if he was going to end up as tall as Finn) before asking, casual with a hint of slyness, "So, this Blaine guy – I think you implied earlier that he wasn't straight. Which means that maybe I smell potential boyfriend material?"

Kurt went red from his neck all the way up to his ears and said nothing, smiling shyly. Mercedes squealed and she wasn't normally a squealing kind of girl. "Oh, now you've got to tell me everything about this boy. I know he's pretty damn cute – so go from there!"

"I think he just wants to be friends with me," Kurt began, but Mercedes was not having it.

"Doesn't mean we can't gush over him!" She leaned against the wall next to him. "Talk, Hummel, talk!"

And so Kurt did – reluctantly at first, but then with greater enthusiasm. She could definitely see the beginnings of a crush, but she could also see that, despite having Blaine's picture up in his locker, Kurt was also fairly wary about putting himself out there. After the whole thing with Finn and now this thing with Karofsky, she really couldn't blame her boy for it. She would rather he be cautious – Kurt tended to pour all his heart, soul and mind into these things once he really got going. She just hoped he could keep his cool and maybe try and see if this Blaine was interested or not without laying too much on the line.

They stayed there chatting away, completely forgetting about lunch and their afternoon classes. Mercedes would gladly take the detention or whatever (likely only a slap on the wrist since they rarely, if ever, missed class), because she hadn't realized how much she'd been missing having Kurt to talk to.

A knock on the bathroom door jerked them out of an in-depth conversation about what eighties fashions were funky and cool enough to make a comeback, and what should stay forgotten (which would be _most_ eighties fashion). Kurt unlocked the door and Tina pushed her way in.

"I've been looking _everywhere_ for you guys – Glee's about to start, and Mr. Schue said that he has an important announcement, he really needs all of us there."

Mercedes picked her bag off the floor. "Right, we're coming."

Kurt was about to pick up his own bag, but Mercedes got there first. "Nuh-uh – I'm taking this for now, and after Glee? We're headin' over to either yours or mine, and I'm taking a look at your back for myself. God help you, boy, if you need a doctor or hospital –"

"Did I miss you getting your medical degree?" Kurt teased, ignoring her serious frown. "It's pretty badly bruised, but I'm fine otherwise. I swear."

She studied him and he smiled a more genuine, sweet smile than she'd seen from him in a long while.

"Okay, Hummel – but we're still going to either your house or mine after this – or hey! Maybe we can swing by Dalton –"

"Stop it," he groaned. "I wish I'd never said anything."

"Guys!" Tina stuck her head back in. "Hurry up!"

Kurt grabbed Mercedes hand. "Stop mentioning him every five seconds and I promise to inform you of every word of every conversation – and text – between myself and Blaine. "

She pulled him away from the door just before he could open it. He looked at her questioningly.

"And Karofsky," she stated quietly and seriously. "Everything that that closet-case says and does to you. Every single thing – you got me, Kurt Hummel?"

"Yes, Mercedes, I've got you," he replied, equally softly and solemnly. "And have I mentioned already how lucky I am to have you?"

"Yes," she said as she reached for the door this time. "But you can keep right on saying it – I don't mind."

Kurt grinned. "You are gorgeous. And annoying in your persistence."

"Love you too, baby."

They followed Tina into the Glee classroom, still holding hands. Mr. Schuester was waiting for them all, his expression grim, but also oddly determined. Mercedes and Kurt shrugged at each other, settling in their seats and waiting for Mr. Schue to kick things off.

Kurt's phone buzzed just as he sat down, and he smiled, blushing as he read his text.

Then he passed it along to Mercedes.

_Things will get better – if not now then soon. Courage._

She felt a smile completely take over her face.

Then Mr. Schue launched into a speech about zero tolerance, what it meant and what they were going to be doing about it.

Mercedes watched her boy as he absorbed this with wide, fluttering eyes, then . . .

Kurt's smile took over the entire room.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Whew! *wipes forehead* That was tough to write in some parts – don't know why, but I struggled a bit with Mercedes' view on things – hopefully it's not too readily apparent!

I have to say that you have all been amazing, incredible, and FANTASTIC in your support and encouragement! I've replied to every review that I could, but to those that I couldn't reply to, and to those that favourited and alerted – THANK YOU so, so, SO much.

It's not just the non-stop inspiration that this episode has provided, but also you guys and your greatness that has made me churn out these chapters so quickly – so thank you!

I really, really hope I haven't disappointed! Comments and critiques are always nice and can be helpful!

Next we have a bully's perspective . . .


	4. Daily Races

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Daily Races_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Azimio was about as psyched to head back to school as any student would be; in other words, he was seriously thinking about pretending that he had a wicked case of food poisoning. Considering all the crap that they had served at his cousin's wedding, he figured it wouldn't take much to convince his parents.

But it was pretty cool to see his friends again – especially Dave, since there was no one else who would play Halo with him until three in the morning on a school night. The guy had been his best friend pretty much since they started high school together; Azimio had confessed to being a hockey fan and Dave had informed him that he was a hockey player who would totally teach him how to skate. The skating thing had not ended well, but they bonded over a broken arm. Dave was one of the best guys Azimio knew.

"My man!" He exchanged a quick guy-hug: slapping of hands, patting of backs and done within two seconds. "Tell me you've been bored out of your skull without me around!"

Dave grinned. "Totally. I've been covering for you, doing twice the work. My arm's sore from all the slushies, and my shoulder too – locker slamming geeks is some work-out."

Azimio shook his head. "Man, we totally need to cook up something big, soon. I think the dorks are gettin' a little too used to our methods."

Dave shrugged as he dug around his locker for his books. "Might be fun. But we _can't_ get caught – if I got suspended, I'm pretty sure my dad would make me sleep in the back yard for a week." Azimio made sympathetic noises – he knew Dave's father well, and the man was nice, but also tougher than most marines. He was cool and funny most of the time, but Azimio was always careful to be on his best behaviour when at the Karofsky home.

He leaned against the row of lockers, surveying the hallway. "Yeah, my mom would probably send me to live with my aunt in Columbus. That woman is all kinds of crazy, and my cousins are like, all nerds and Harry Potter freaks – they go to midnight releases and shit. It would be hell."

Dave raised an eyebrow. "Dude, _you_ read those books. I know you have 'cause I saw them in your room, and they did not look brand-new."

"Shut up, they were a Christmas gift from my Aunt Jean, and it's not like I read 'em more than once." Azimio shoved him hard and Dave pushed him back, rolling his eyes and smirking.

"Fine, whatever you say, man." Dave finally fished out his math book. "Let's head out – I so don't need another tardy on my record."

Azimio felt the need to keep on defending his coolness because no way he wanted his best buddy thinking he was a closet nerd. "Those books are totally bogus now – I mean, Dumbledore's a fag, which completely destroys any cool factor, if they had any to begin with."

Dave blinked. "Huh? Since when is Dumbledore gay?"

"Dude, it was like, all over the news a while back – how'd you miss it?"

His friend cast him a look out of the corner of his eye. "I don't know, maybe 'cause since I'm not into nerdy crap, I wasn't paying attention?"

"That's it, now you go down, Karofsky!" He feinted a couple of one-two punches that Dave ducked, laughing and giving back a few of his own.

The other students in the hall darted around them quickly, keeping their heads down and hunching in on themselves as they passed. It was awesome, being that powerful – though not _the _most powerful; Azimio was man enough to admit that Sue Sylvester was still the scariest motherfucking thing in this school (she got _Olivia Newton-John_ to help her overcome the embarrassment of that work-out video and that was power he could both respect and be terrified of – he immediately stopped mocking her in the hallways and kept his own head down around her). There was no shame in running the hell away from her if you saw her coming – that was just self-preservation – but after Coach Sylvester, he and Dave had the next spot on the fear charts. That was just the way things were and the way things _should_ be.

"Oh, yes, here comes my favourite little freak." Azimio spotted Hummel coming down the hall; he was distracted, playing with the iPhone that his daddy had probably bought him. It was just aggravating to see the kid still being his usual gay-ass self, with no regard to how freakish and out of place he was.

That was all right, Azimio was more than happy to remind him. He nudged Dave, who gave him a nod. Hummel was just putting his phone away when Azimio came and swept his foot right in gay-boy's path. Dave gave him an extra hard shove, sending him tripping and hitting the ground. He didn't have to look to see the frustrated and pained look on the homo's face. He just grinned to himself, proud of a job well done, a pride that Dave shared with him by exchanging a high-five.

"Now I feel like I'm back," Azimio said with satisfaction.

"Yeah, but he never seems to get the message, you know?" Dave complained, and Azimio totally got that. Hummel never really seemed too scared of them. Mostly he just got pissed or annoyed. A few times he seemed almost . . . like he just accepted it or something. Which, _good_, nice to know he understood his place in the grand order of things, but the little prick didn't even try to dress down or call less attention to himself.

"Maybe we should make our big project 'bout Hummel – I mean, his Glee club freaks can't be around all the time."

"Yeah." Dave was staring back over his shoulder now, shaking his head to himself a bit. "But you know what? He's kinda been a loner lately. Like, even that Jones girl hasn't been around him that much."

"Maybe they've all finally wised up and dropped the loser," Azimio pointed out. "Huh, I may have to reconsider the slushie I was gonna throw at her."

They had reached their math class five minutes early and were taking their seats when Lucy Kindle (a sweet Cheerio with a great ass, though her rack was less impressive than most), turned around to greet them, chattering away about the latest gossip. Azimio was only half listening, until she cocked her head at his friend and asked, "Oh, and hey, Dave, what was up with Kurt a few days ago?"

Dave stared at her, frozen in the middle of opening his binder. "What the hell are you talking about, I don't know anything –"

"I mean, I heard Gracie talking about how you pushed him and he just like totally took off on you – chased you into the locker room."

Azimio felt his eyebrows shoot up. "Damn, Hummel can be a mouthy little asshole, but that's something ballsy for a kid who's got nothin' goin' on in the testosterone department. Did you lay him out for that?"

"Nah, he just said his usual crap – couldn't understand half of what was coming' out of those girly lips anyways," Dave dismissed – and then suddenly his binder was on the floor, papers sliding everywhere across the tiles.

"Shit," his friend swore loudly.

"Nicely done." He rolled his eyes, bending over to help, but Dave was on his knees already, waving him off. "No thanks, Azimio, I got it."

"By the way," Lucy was staring at her nails, not looking at either of them, "why do you pick on Kurt so much? He's not all that much of a dork, you know. He kicked some serious ass on Cheerios and he's a pretty good singer. And he gives a great manicure."

"Well, you would like him, since he's more girl than guy." Azimio snorted. "Y'all could've put him in one of those little skirts and I bet you no one would've been able to tell the difference."

Lucy shrugged and turned back to chatter with another girl. Dave was taking his sweet time getting up from the floor, and he stumbled a bit as he got back into his chair.

"Dave, man, what's up with you?" he asked, staring at the hockey player. He looked a little red in the face, and there was sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"It's that stupid cold I got a couple of weeks ago – still can't shake it, sometimes it sneaks up on me." He sniffed, wiping at his face.

"You wanna head over to the nurse? I'm fine with skipping class and hanging out there. I have my PSP, we can –"

"Nah, it's cool." Dave smiled, though Azimio could see that he was clearly not feeling well. He frowned, figuring that if Dave got any worse through out the day, he'd make him go to the nurse – especially if it was during last period, because he seriously needed an excuse to get out of history class. He was so not ready for that test today.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

During lunch, they were sitting at a table with their buddies, telling jokes and comparing scores for their online Halo war – Azimio was still on top, even though he hadn't been playing for nearly a week. Dave was joking and tossing food along with the rest of them, but he didn't look too good.

"So, did you hear? Our resident fag might be transferring schools." Kramer looked stoked just saying it, like it was the best news since the arrival of the new, sluttier Cheerios' skirts a couple years back.

"Seriously? No way!" Azimio could not believe that the arrogant boy would do that – it would be too much like letting them win – but it would be awesome if he did just that, if he left and let them have a gay-free school. Well, _less_ gay, since the Glee club would still be around.

"Where'd you hear this?" Dave asked, pushing his food around his plate with a plastic fork.

"Oh, around, and uh, Jewfro's Glee blog thing –"

"Man, you _actually_ read that! Lame!" Dave flung some of his half-eaten mashed potatoes at Kramer. A few of the guys at the table laughed and jeered and threw a bit of their own lunches at the stocky football player.

The guy wiped the crap off his face, scowling at them all. "Yeah, man, no shit. Jewfro's slime, but he knows everything that goes on around here. I've seen you reading it during Tech, Karofsky, so don't pretend like you don't know what I'm saying."

Dave gave the guy the finger and shot a death glare at a couple of football players gearing up to toss some mashed potatoes his way – they decided to eat them instead. Azimio clapped Dave across the shoulder, showing some solidarity because reading Jewfro's blog was something everyone did, even if they didn't want to admit it. Even he coasted on it from time to time, during that joke of a class that was _supposed_ to be Computer Tech. Everyone just went on Facebook or Messenger for the whole period while Mr. Slevin napped at his desk, waking up every once in a while to make sure they weren't surfing for porn or downloading viruses.

"Go back to the part where Hummel abandons ship," he said, grinning. "Where's he headin'?"

"Get this – you know that all boy private school, Dalton?"

Azimio burst out laughing. "Holy crap, that's like, the gay holy land or something. Figures he'd end up there."

"He may not end up going you know," Tristan, another hockey player, pointed out while sipping his Coke. "And I don't want the cocksucker here any more than you guys do, but it is what it is."

"Maybe we should phone up Dalton, let 'em know exactly what they're lettin' in," Kramer suggested.

"Nah." Azimio crunched his grape soda can. "Place is probably one huge Fag Pride parade. Good riddance though, let Hummel go be with his own kind, messed up as that is."

"I really think he's going," Kramer said with relish. "Did you guys see that random guy at school yesterday? The one with the suit-type thing on? Total private school uniform. Maybe he came by to recruit Hummel?"

"Or maybe he's Hummel's little fuck-toy and that's why he's transferring," Dave said, crossing his arms. "If that dude ever shows up again, we should definitely let him know he is not welcome – one fag is more than enough."

Azimio nodded. "Agreed."

"Now can we please stop talking about gay dudes? It's makin' me sick." Dave groaned, pushing his tray away. They started dissing their upcoming competition for the football and hockey teams, taking one time-out to send Jewfro flying into another table with a well placed foot and a quick push.

The bell rang, and they did their usual slow motion rise from the table, still talking, because there really was no hurry to get to class. Azimio waited until most of the others were gone before grabbing Dave's shoulder.

"You're looking real shitty, dude – I'm taking you to the nurse."

"Quit being such a girl, I'm fine," Dave said stubbornly.

"Look, man, there's a test in last period I totally did not even try to study for, and my C is hangin' by a thread. Ms. Deans totally loves you, and if I tell her I had to take you to the nurse, she will let me make it up later – and her make-up tests are always cake."

"Aw, so nice to know you care," Dave said sarcastically. "But fine – I'm not in the mood to deal with either history or tech today . . . Do I really look that bad?"

Azimio was picking up both their bags. "Yeah you do, trust me. Now hustle, I wanna show you how awesome Call of Duty looks on my PSP."

They walked to the nurses office quickly, though he had to stop on the way at one point, bent at the waist, laughing his ass off as Dave told him a crazy funny homo joke that his uncle had told him the night before. Azimio promised himself to tell it to Hummel at the first locker-slamming opportunity.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

It turned out that Dave really was sick – the nurse said it looked like he might've picked up the flu or something – which was crappy for Dave, but awesome too, since they now had a great excuse to miss their afternoon classes. Dave made himself look real pathetic, and Azimio volunteered to stay with him so the nurse could deal with that little Physics club kid who'd come in with a bleeding nose.

There was a small room with no door, just off the main nurse office, with an extra cot, and so they both sat there, or in Dave's case, lay down. They played with their respective PSPs until school was out, and Dave tried to fake a recovery – he had practice right after last period, and he didn't want to miss it.

Azimio would've told him to skip it, but he figured the hockey player could decide for himself if he was well enough to stick it out. Plus, he knew how much his friend loved to play hockey; he'd played with a sprained ankle once, and he remembered how proud Dave was for ignoring the pain and helping to keep the other team's offense completely shut out. There wasn't much that would keep the guy off the ice if he really wanted to be there.

"Did you wanna hang around and come by to mine after I'm done?" Dave asked as he pulled his letterman jacket back on. "My dad's grilling some steaks and he said to ask if you wanted to come over."

"Oh hell yes – no one cooks meat like your old man." Azimio's mouth was already watering just thinking about it.

"Cool." Dave picked up his bag. As they made their way out of the school, they both immediately spotted Goth-chick sitting in front on a bench, listening to some music with her eyes closed.

Dave nudged Azimio once, and in perfect unison they split up, sneaking up on her, Azimio reaching for her earbuds and Dave for her bag.

She jerked back on the bench, almost falling off. "Hey!"

Dave overturned her bag, sending books, papers and makeup cases crashing to the sidewalk. "What you gonna do, Twilight? Suck my blood? Turn into a fuzzy bat?"

Azimio glanced at the iPod he was now holding. "What no, emo-death black eyeliner music?" He was honestly surprised – she had been listening to some Rolling Stones.

"Shut up, Azimio, I'm not explaining my taste in music to you." She glared, but he could clearly see that she was afraid.

That was fine. Regardless of what that little punk Hummel had said, he wasn't into hitting girls – shoving them around and throwing slushies was about as far as he was willing to go. But Goth-chick didn't need to know that.

"Whatcha doin' out here all by yourself, freak?" he asked casually, putting one foot on the bench next to her, leaning in, tossing her iPod carelessly onto the ground. "Ain't you supposed to be singing your little black heart out right now?"

"I had to leave early – my parents should be here any second to pick me up, so get the hell away from me," she said, keeping her eyes off him.

Dave was kicking her stuff out of his way as he came to mirror Azimio's stance on her other side. "Why? They need you back at the crypt?"

"_Hey, you two!_"

Azimio whipped around, watching as Schuester and Hudson came out of the school. He considered running, but he wasn't a pussy like that, so he stood his ground – just made sure to back off a bit from the girl.

"I don't think you realize it, but you just did me a favour – I get to prove a point now." Schuester turned to Finn. "Get Tina back inside, and you guys stay in the classroom, I'll be there in a minute."

"Right." Hudson was glaring at them both, and he helped gather up Goth-chick's stuff before disappearing back into the school.

Within seconds, most of the Glee club was at the front doors, hiding just behind them and watching. Dave was staring at Schuester, his expression blank and indifferent. "We didn't do anything."

"Sure." Schuester snorted, hands on his hips. "You've never done anything. Never slushied anyone, never pushed anyone into a locker or threatened to beat up one of _my _students. Well, guess what? I've reached the end of my patience with this crap."

Azimio felt his eyes widen slightly to hear Schuester talk this way. The guy was usually such a pushover – he headed up the _Glee club_ and was so _nice_ all the time, Azimio didn't think he could get _this_ angry.

"You both have detention with me, all of next week after school. No hockey practice, no football practice – you are _mine_ for five days. And we're going to Figgins first thing tomorrow morning."

"You, you can't do that!" Azimio stuttered.

"Oh yes, I can. Tina is going to tell her parents exactly what happened today, and I am going to start calling your parents _every time_ you pull these kinds of stunts. And I'm going to take you to Figgins every time too. Spread the word – this applies to any and all of you who think this type of stuff constitutes fun times. _No more_."

Azimio felt himself cringing beneath the weight of Schuester's stare – the man's voice was low and scary, and _Jesus, _it was actually kind of freaky. "No way Figgins goes along with this," he said, confident in that at least. "He'll tell you to back off."

"Maybe, but then again, maybe if I keep pushing, and enough parents become aware of what exactly goes on in this school – particularly the parents of the students that you've decided to torment – then maybe I can do more than just be a minor nuisance in your life. Maybe, if _you_ push hard enough, I can get you suspended . . . or expelled. Or arrested. I leave that completely up to you. I know you aren't bad kids, but people have been letting you get away with stuff for too long and _someone_ needs to be strict with you, if not for yourselves, then for the ones that you bully. Now, get home – I expect to see you waiting for me in Figgins' office in the morning, twenty minutes before first bell."

Azimio wanted to have the last word, because _fuck no_, this asshole could _not_ talk to him like he was some sort of idiot or five year old or . . . Dave grabbed him, holding him back and he hadn't even realized that he had been taking steps toward the teacher. The glee dorks had apparently seen it too because they had poured out of the school, standing right behind Schuester, forming ranks like a sad little misfit army. He'd stirred up the freak hive again and Queen Bitch Schuester was going try to do something about it. He swore under his breath, but Schue heard it and he pointed out at the parking lot. "I said _leave_."

He let his best friend pull him away, and he knew that he was shaking, he was so damn angry. Not scared, because no way Schuester could back any of that up. Not to mention that his mom would raise hell if Schue even _tried_ to get him suspended, and forget expelled.

"Dude, you okay?"

Azimio shrugged off the boy's hand from his shoulder. "Back off, Dave, I'm pissed off enough to not care who I hit."

"All right." Dave held his hands up. "Okay, okay, but maybe Schue's right. I told you, if I get into any shit –"

"Yeah, yeah," Azimio ground out. "But no way I'm letting those dorks think they've won – no way, man, this school is _ours_. We are the _top dogs_. I'm not letting this lie, and you can do whatever you want, but I am going to send them a _message_. Push me around like some punk, no fucking way –"

Dave let him rant, because his bro was cool that way. He then said, as they walked, that he'd decided to skip out on hockey practice since his stomach was bugging him now too, and they could just head straight to his house. He made Azimio promise to back him up about what the school nurse said so his father didn't send him back out to practice anyway – the man was all about keeping commitments even if you were on your death bed, and Azimio instantly agreed to cover for Dave since it had to be bad to be keeping his friend off the ice.

He felt himself calming down as Dave started bitching about how this girl he was interested in wouldn't put out unless he took her out to an expensive dinner at Breadstix first, and his friend's imitation of her whiny voice had Azimio laughing again in no time.

But he was still dead-set on teaching those Glee freaks a lesson, one gleek in particular, since his freakiness was just an offense to everything in Azimio; he couldn't stand the idea of Hummel and his superiority complex, now more than ever. He'd seen the way the boy had been looking at him just now from amongst his gleek crowd – like Azimio was beneath him or some shit. That the little cocksucker _dared_ to even consider himself _better_ than him had his hands clenched into fists, but he kept on laughing along with his friend.

They reached his street and stopped to help Mrs. Sanford wrangle up her constantly escaping pair of cats – she was a sweet old lady who made crazy delicious cookies and kind of reminded Azimio of the stereotypical grandma who called you 'dearie' and pinched your cheek. And she always gave them the biggest, gooiest chocolate chip cookies if they helped her out, which made it worth their while. Dave turned her down though, rubbing at his stomach and wiping at his lips a couple of times.

"You good now, man?" Dave asked as he sniffed a bit again, rubbing at bleary eyes. The boy had clearly not been sleeping well these past few days, so no wonder this cold was coming back to kick his ass.

Azimio shrugged. "I will be. I'll be better when we're partaking of your dad's steaks – move it dude, I'm hungry!"

Dave marched up the steps with a grin, calling out for his dad. Azimio turned to wave at Mrs. Sanford one more time, and she waved back as she sprayed her bushes with her hose.

He watched her watering her flower bushes, and an idea crept up into his mind. His plan to 'Get the Gay Gleek' was pretty straightforward, but this bit of inspiration was a nice little addition to it. _Yeah, I'm good now_.

"Azimio, c'mon, my dad wants us to get the grill going!"

He marched up the steps, grinning and feeling confident in himself again.

He was a man with a plan, and it was awesome.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: You are all insanely wonderful. **Seriously, while I am endlessly grateful for all your favourites and alerts, as previously mentioned, now I'm quite nervous about posting, which contributed to my struggles in writing this chapter because I very much do not want to let any of you down.

Man, this was _even _harder to write than the last one. I take back everything I said about struggling with Mercedes' POV – this was such a challenge, all the way through.

So, now I'm a girl with a plan, and I'm returning to my roots of writing Burt and Kurt . . . though not just yet. I'm going to try one more other POV and then we'll have some Kurt, and then his epic father. Which I suppose makes it another three chapters, total.

I think at least one person asked about/requested some Blaine: there will be Blaine, though I won't be writing from his perspective because he's a bit of a mystery to me, but he will definitely turn up and play a role in this.

Next chapter we have a random, outside perspective, and Azimio's plan in action . . .


	5. Going Nowhere

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Going Nowhere_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ida had only been at McKinley High a month, but in that month she'd learned things she never would have considered as necessary to her daily life.

For example: who knew that slushies could stain through not one, not two, but _three_ layers of clothing, and your skin besides? Not something she'd ever expected to have to know. She'd thought the cheerleading skirt in her old school had been pretty damn slutty, but the Cheerios took it to a whole new level – and so she learned that as long as you had on a uniform with school colours, pretty much anything you did was acceptable. This applied to the Cheerios and to their bulky male counterparts, the jocks. While not _every_ jock or Cheerio abused their popularity, it was a _highly_ significant amount that did. The male Cheerios and female jocks were just as likely to ignore the abuse going on as they were to partake in it, and it seemed there was no middle ground.

The sight of a letterman jacket made her cringe slightly, but after her first couple of – _what did they call them? . . . Slushie facials, right –_well, after two of those, the jocks pretty much let her be. She'd already become just another face in the crowd, and while being invisible was depressing in its own right, it was way better than being a target.

What she didn't know, and had only just recently begun to learn, was exactly how bad the targets had it.

The slushies, the patriotic wedgies, the dumpster tosses and the locker slamming . . . the list went on, and on, and _on._ She kept her head down, and for the first time in her teen life, she prayed like hell that no one would _ever_ notice her.

She couldn't help but stare when that boy (the one with the great, if not slightly out there, clothes) who she had come to quickly recognize as one of the bigger targets of the school, was pushed so hard he was basically _launched_ into the row of lockers that included her own. Her jaw dropped as she shifted her gaze from him to the jock that did it, and she couldn't believe how _no one_ in the crowd of students was _caring_. Not a single teacher emerged on the scene, and there were no double takes or noises of outrage – just _nothing._

As for the boy himself, he went from shock to anger in less than five seconds. When he pushed himself off the wall to go and give his bully a piece of his mind . . . that was the first time in her entire month at McKinley that she actually felt like she wanted to know someone – to insert herself into the lives of these nameless faces around her. She only hoped that guy didn't end up getting hurt. She briefly considered following, but she couldn't see where he'd disappeared to and nobody else, teacher or student, seemed like they would help.

She had noticed his iPhone on the floor, picked it up and stared at the one word that was still displayed on the screen. Some other boy named Blaine had texted Mr. Fabulous – and all he had to say was '_courage_'.

It got an involuntary smile out of her, thought she didn't know why.

She turned the phone in to the office's lost and found, and hoped her well-dressed, potential friend would find it there soon.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ida had been listening to the gossip and reading up on her fellow classmates on that blog that the kid with the ginger afro ran – she could put some names to the faces now, though it was hard since she didn't usually make the effort to know people. The one she was most interested in was Kurt Hummel. She occasionally stared at him in envy, jealous of his confidence, because he had to be confident to wear some of the things he did. She knew that the main, if not _only_ reason he was picked on was the fact that he was gay (as stupid a reason as any to pick on anyone) – but she also thought that if he wasn't so self-possessed when he walked these halls, and so unapologetically himself, the bullies of this school wouldn't be so dead-set on bringing him down. All this made her want to get to know him more; he seemed to be so cool, one of the coolest people she'd ever met – except that she hadn't met him, yet.

Now she tried to keep an eye out for him in the hallways – to try and catch sight of him, work up the nerve to say something. It was a sad thing to notice, but the easiest way to find him was to keep her ears attuned to the telltale slam of body meeting locker or floor and, more often than not, there he'd be. But she couldn't say anything those times, even though her heart broke when she saw him slumped down on the floor, decked out in a bright yellow sweater and fantastic yellow boots. She promised herself to say something to him the next day._ Well, maybe tomorrow is too soon . . . the day after?_

She held tight to that promise two days later as her mother drove her to school; her mom always dropped her off half an hour early and Ida had gotten used to being one of the first students to arrive. A few teachers would smile vague, empty smiles at her, but other than that, she was left alone to wander the halls. The other early starters relegated themselves to the cafeteria or the library and she didn't want to intrude upon their solitude . . . At least that's what she told herself.

But this morning two more students were in the hall – two massive jocks with grim expressions, walking to the principal's office.

She recognized them both: the black guy, Azimio – he'd given her the first of her two 'Welcome to McKinley' slushie facials. Azimio and this other husky jock were Kurt's main tormentors. Ida couldn't help it – she followed them out of curiosity.

She couldn't go into the principal's office, obviously, but she could see through the glass walls, watching as they sat down, and seeing that the Spanish teacher was there too. If she didn't know any better, she would say the two boys were in trouble, but that didn't ever seem to be the case in this school.

She ducked around a corner and waited, pulling out her iPod and plugging into it – but she didn't hit play.

When the two boys burst from the office almost fifteen minutes later, the halls were full of students getting ready for class, but she was close enough to hear what they were saying despite the general racket. They really weren't being quiet with their words.

"I can't believe this bullshit!" Azimio snarled. "That son of bitch!"

"Figgins made him drop the detentions on the days we have practice," the other boy said. "Man, chill out! Schue can't do anything to us and Figgins just proved it!"

"We still have three detentions and that's three more than I've ever gotten for putting a gleek in their place!" Azimio was pacing. "This is such a load of crap." But he was calming down, slowing his angry strides. "Sorry, Dave, man, I'm just – this sucks. Schuester's gunning for us now and that's making me edgy."

"Well, he's a teacher, not the principal!" Dave pointed out. "Just keep your head down around him, and we'll be cool."

Azimio was smiling suddenly. "And I've got a surprise planned for him anyway. Him and his group of gleek freaks."

Dave was rifling through his backpack, taking out a bright red apple and crunching into it, speaking between bites. "I don't know, dude." He was eying his friend speculatively. "If Figgins is gonna back up Schuester even a little on this, we might be in for –"

Azimio waved him off. "Don't worry about it. Seriously, this is all me."

And then the crowd swallowed them up as the first warning bell went off.

Ida stood there for a minute, not sure about what she'd just heard, or why it was replaying over and over in her head. She shrugged it off; this day was just getting off to a weird start, and it was time to move on – she did have first period chemistry to get to. Maybe this time she would actually try to raise her hand and answer questions . . . or maybe not.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was after first period that she got her first indication that the weirdness wasn't just an early morning thing.

Another douche in a letterman jacket came strolling down the hall, slushie in hand, and people were freezing, ducking, or simply standing still, shutting their eyes and bracing themselves. Just as he picked his target, letting a grape slushie fly, Mr. Schuester appeared in the hallway, arms crossed, eyes darting back and forth, soon catching sight of the laughing jock and shivering girl – a blonde with braces and acne.

"Hey!"

Ida watched as Mr. Schuester rounded on the jock. "Your name?"

The jock blinked and she felt a bitterly sarcastic comment rise up to her lips to do with his inability to recall his own name, but she swallowed it down.

"Kramer?" _Or maybe it was Jake, gee, I don't know sir – mostly I just go by what teacher's call out from the attendance sheets, but since I never go to class . . . _She had to smother a giggle.

"Kramer Johnson, you're on my list here." Mr. Schuester waved a clipboard. "You have detention with me, today after school, and I'm calling your parents."

The jock's eyes widened, and he spluttered some lame excuses. The Spanish teacher just stared at him grimly. "Don't worry, you'll be with many of your friends, I'm sure. Actually, I'm looking for Tristan Evans – he tossed Eden Travers into the dumpster today and he'll be one of those joining you in detention as soon as I find him."

For somewhere down the hall, the sound of a locker-slam echoed – and Mr. Schuester took off after it. Ida watched in wide-eyed shock as yet _another_ jock got detention. Seconds later, he stopped a big blond guy, asking his name, and gave _him_ detention too.

Ida couldn't believe it – but then it happened again, after second period. Mr. Schuester prowled the hallways and it wasn't just him. She saw that ridiculously tall football player, Hudson (first name or last, she couldn't recall), actually stop someone from tossing a slushie all over that boy in the wheelchair. And was that the head Cheerio, Quinn, standing in front of a small girl with short, frizzy curls, keeping her safe from a guy and another Cheerio who had clearly come over to hassle her? The Glee club was trying to enforce some law and order and it was . . . rather inspiring.

Had Ida's mother made a mistake and dropped her off at the wrong high school? Or maybe Ida had never woken up at all this morning and she was sleeping through her alarm right now, dreaming.

Her more experienced, embittered side took over, the one bred from years as a wallflower, of being a silent observer. She realized that while this was an unexpected turn of events, it was likely to not work out very well – so far it looked like it was only Mr. Schuester who was willing to put in the effort to stop these bullying creeps, and he couldn't be everywhere at once, or have all the jocks in the school for detention. And the principal only seemed to semi-support him.

Not only that, but Ida felt the tension increasing a thousand fold in the hallways as the day progressed; people were confused and freaking out – jocks were either avoiding the geeks, or being more brutal than usual, teachers were complaining to one another, sniping about Mr. Schuester or arguing that the man had good sense, and she heard more than one person on the phone to their parents. In other words, things were being pushed to a head, and Ida was tempted to fake a stomachache to get sent home. Or maybe not even bother with the stomachache – she'd just come from a class where the teacher had completely missed her name during attendance. She really was invisible.

Then she saw him. Kurt Hummel was walking arm-in-arm with his friend (she had to wrack her brains to remember the girl's – _oh, right, Mercedes_). She really wanted to talk to them, introduce herself, say she was new and needed some help. Something. _Anything_.

They were walking past her, and she opened her mouth – but the only sound that emerged was this faded sort of squeak. She frowned to herself as she watched the pair disappear into a classroom.

"That little fag! I bet he's the reason this is happening! He went and cried like a baby to his Glee club daddy and now we're all getting busted for stupid shit!"

She whipped around, seeing the two boys from that morning – Azimio and Dave – and a couple of others, lingering around the boy's bathroom as the bell sounded. A short, stocky olive-skinned jock had been the one to explode first. His other nameless friend tried to calm him down.

"Relax, bro! Schue could be –"

"I don't give a crap! As soon as I get home, I'm telling my mom – she works for a law firm and I know they'll come in here and take care of business."

Dave nodded. "Understood, dude, but don't worry about it right now. We just have to bide our time."

Azimio grinned. "And remember what Kramer said – the fairy's probably going to be transferring soon. Actually, I _know_ he's going to be transferring soon."

"Why? Did Jewfro put up something new on his blog?" Dave asked, bending down to tie his shoes even though the laces were already tied, at least from what she could see.

Dave missed the smirk that spread across his friend's face. "Nah, man, I just believe in the power of positive thinking. You think good thoughts long enough and you can make 'em come true!"

The other boys laughed at that. Dave straightened up after undoing and then retying his laces, a smile on his face too.

Ida realized that, special invisible powers or not, she was now one of a handful of people left in the halls. She did _not_ want to be singled out by these pricks. As she hurried past them, hugging her binder close to her chest, she heard Azimio say, "Listen, you guys need to steer clear of the locker room during last period, okay? I've got a surprise in the works and I need y'all to give me some space."

She didn't hear anything else after that but again, for whatever inexplicable reason, Azimio's words were stuck on repeat in her mind as she headed into Biology.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Her last period class was History, and she really, really loved it. It was one of her favourite classes and Ms. Deans was a pretty cool teacher. She made it so interesting that even the typically less enthusiastic students didn't try and catch naps, and it looked like some of the jocks considered it socially acceptable to answer questions in this class – whether it was because Ms. Deans was rather attractive, or because she was fun, Ida wasn't sure.

"Thank you, Dave," she was saying as the boy handed her his essay.

"Oh, and here's Azimio's too." Dave gave her another stapled set of papers. "He wasn't feeling too well. I might've given him that bug that made me sick yesterday."

The teacher raised an eyebrow, likely doubting the story, but too good-natured (and maybe too naive) to comment on it. "All right. Let him know that I still need to talk to him about that make-up test."

Ida had forgotten that these two jocks were in her class. She watched as Dave put his bag on the empty seat his friend normally occupied.

She stared at that seat, her mind distracted from Ms. Deans normally engaging introduction for whatever era or historical event they were focusing on for that day.

_"And I've got a surprise planned for him anyway. Him and his group of gleek freaks."_

She continued to take notes absentmindedly – just grabbing words and dates as she heard them, but not really listening.

_" . . . the fairy's probably going to be transferring soon. Actually, I __**know**__ he's going to be transferring soon."_

It was twenty minutes into class and Ida started to get a sick feeling that there was something important that she was missing.

_"Listen, you guys need to steer clear of the locker room during last period, okay? I've got a surprise in the works and I need y'all to give me some space."_

Her hand was in the air before she even realized it.

"Yes?" Ms. Deans pointed at her, smiling kindly and probably unable to remember her name. Ida didn't blame her for it though – she rarely opened her mouth more than two or three times a day.

"May I go to the bathroom, please?" she asked as politely as she could. Her voice was just above a whisper, but the teacher heard her.

"Of course, let me give you a hall pass."

Ida stood up, wrapping her black hoodie around herself and accepted the hall pass with a twitch of the lips that was her attempt at a smile, shoving the pass into her hoodie's pocket. Then she was out of there, trying to remember where the boy's locker room was. She wasn't too sure what she was doing, or why. All she knew was that her stomach was twisting in knots and that while this might be her paranoia acting up, the way the back of her neck tingled when she thought of Azimio's words . . .

She reached the locker room after a bit of wandering and stood in front of the door, uncertain of herself. She could hear the sound of the showers going, and she really did not want to become known as some kind of pervert that got off on watching boys in the shower or whatever. But really, who would be in the showers in the middle of the period? And it was loud – like more than one going at once.

She steeled herself and pushed into the boy's locker room.

The sound was even louder once she made it past the door, but there was nothing else – no sign of Azimio.

Until she passed by the lockers – then she saw him.

He had his back to her, and she immediately hid around a corner to be able to watch him without being seen herself. He had a can of red spray paint in his hand, and he was putting the finishing touches on his graffiti. The paint was damp, glistening and dripping, the words all in capitals and unmistakable (and that little sarcastic corner of her mind couldn't help but marvel that it was all spelled correctly too).

ZERO TOLERANCE … FOR FAGS!

She bit her lip, wondering if this was all; had Azimio had been so smug and excited about a simple act of vandalism? As she thought this, he turned, making her flinch back, but he wasn't looking in her direction – he was looking down to something on the floor.

The water was going strong from nearly all the showerheads, but there was no steam – meaning it wasn't hot water. This detail became important when she spotted some movement on the floor; two pale hands, tied together with some material she couldn't identify, curling and dragging desperately against the wet tiles.

She had to cover her mouth with both of her own hands to keep a scream from erupting forth.

Kurt Hummel was pulling and dragging himself, sliding forward on his stomach a depressingly scant few inches and clearly in too much pain to do more. He was soaked – his jeans, she could remember, had been dark green when she'd seen him earlier, and now they were practically black. His jacket and vest were gone, his checkered shirt was ripped open, one of the sleeves also coming loose at the shoulder seam, buttons missing, material sticking to his shivering torso . . . He was so white he was practically colourless except for . . .

The red welts and marks that were already turning dark – they were huge and splayed across his chest and what she could see of his sides. His breath was hitching painfully between shivers, and the blood – it covered nearly the entire right side of his face, splashed across what remained of his shirt, staining the tiles and swirling in the water.

"Where are you goin', Hummel?" Azimio splashed through the inch or so of water, putting a firm, sneakered foot onto Kurt's back, pushing him down viciously and preventing him from escaping.

"L-l-leave me alone!" Kurt managed to wheeze out. "S-stop this! _Please!_"

That last one was more of a cry as Azimio bent down and grabbed him by the legs – it occurred to Ida, randomly, that Kurt's tie was missing too, and suddenly the damp material around his wrists made sense.

"You're bleedin' all over your fancy clothes, princess. Lemme help you with that!"

Kurt was dragged from her sight as Azimio shoved him directly under a showerhead, turning the water up even more, and she could hear Kurt spluttering and coughing. _How the_ . . . When had he managed to grab Kurt? How had _no one_ seen? Why, _why_ was this happening? Why couldn't she _move_?

"Can't swim, fairy?" Azimio laughed to himself.

Ida somehow managed to push herself away from the wall, away from her hiding place. _Oh God, oh God, oh God._ She had to run, had to get help – but she couldn't leave him here! What if they didn't listen?! What if they didn't get here fast enough?!

"C'mon, Hummel, wakey wakey." Azimio lashed out with a foot, and the sickening thump it made upon impact, the sound of Kurt choking and crying, that did it.

_"Leave him the fuck alone!"_

It was deafening to her own ears and echoed just as loudly around the locker room. Azimio slipped and almost fell over in shock when he heard it. His eyes locked onto hers and she felt the urge to run seize her every limb, but she fought it. She stood her ground, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked incredulously, voice going up an octave or two.

She was shaking with fear and anger, her mind scattered to the four winds and her mouth dry, but she managed to speak all the same. "Get the hell away from him and get out of here." She had to raise her voice to be heard over the showers and, aside from that first shout, it was the loudest she'd spoken in years. It felt _good_. Azimio's eyes narrowed and he started to advance on her. Ida took a step back, raising both her hands, noticing that they were trembling too. "Come near me and I'll scream – you heard how loud I can be! I scream my lungs out and the whole school will come running!"

He paused mid-step, then growled out, "Get the fuck out of here, bitch, this has nothing to do with you!"

"No, I won't leave. How the hell did you think you could get away with this! You told – I mean you _actually_ said to them that – doesn't matter, don't answer." She waved him off, her hands shaking harder. "Just, just stop it!"

He hesitated for a painfully long minute, then seemed to come to a decision and started towards her again. "Man, I'll shut you up myself – ain't no one gonna hear you through the door and down the hall, especially not with all the class doors shut!"

She was gearing up to scream and to run like mad even though it meant that Kurt might . . .

"Only a fucking coward attacks a woman, Azimio," came his high voice, hoarse but audible.

Azimio and Ida both stared in shock as Kurt haltingly pushed himself up, bound hands and all, into a sitting position, leaning uncomfortably against one of the shower cubicles and just out of the reach of the pouring water. His hair was plastered to his forehead, stained red on one side, sending rivulets of water down his face, like tears – maybe they _were_ tears.

But he was glaring hard at Azimio with those eyes of his – they were looking glassy and more gray than blue, but they were also sparking with anger and defiance.

Azimio was turning around, furious.

A part of her marveled at Kurt's ability to rally himself and keep on fighting. Another part of her was mentally yelling _'Shut up, idiot, and stop drawing attention to yourself!_' But, then again, even barely knowing him, Ida was certain that Kurt Hummel had never been afraid to draw attention to himself.

She squared her shoulders and called Azimio's focus back onto her, whipping her phone out from the pocket of her hoodie, so grateful that she hadn't put it in her backpack. "I'm not afraid of you – and if you don't get out of here right now, I'm calling the police. Actually, I'm calling the police either way." She dialed quickly and put the phone up to her ear. "So you may want to get a head start."

He freaked out – he launched himself at her, knocking the phone from her hands, sending Ida crashing down to the floor. Kurt was yelling but it wasn't nearly loud enough, and she was trying to scream, but Azimio's weight had her pinned and breathless. _Oh God_, what if he _killed_ her? What if he _killed_ them _both_? _Why had she been so stupid? Why hadn't she run and screamed right from the start?_

"Jesus – Azimio, _what the hell?_"

Azimio's jock buddy Dave was standing over them, eyes wide in shock. He bent and pulled his friend off her and she tried to scramble away, to stand up and run like crazy, but she was shaking too hard, and her ankle really hurt, too much to put weight on it; she thought she might have twisted it badly when she fell. She crawled backwards onto the wet tiles, almost falling flat on her back from the ice-cold shock of the water.

A pair of wet, bound, slightly pruney hands reached for her own, long white fingers wrapping around her wrist.

She turned to see Kurt only a couple of feet away from her. He murmured softly, "Are you okay?"

Ida had to hold back a hysterical and completely inappropriate giggle – he looked like a talking corpse, white beyond reason and stained with blood and was _she_ okay, he was asking? She couldn't speak right now, couldn't answer, all her bravery, all the adrenaline, whatever it was that helped her hold her ground against that asshole, it was gone and she wanted to cry. She wanted her mom, so, so _badly_.

"Azimio, fuck, what –"

Her eyes went back to the two huge boys. She squeezed Kurt's hands hard as she watched them.

Azimio pushed Dave. "Fuck _you_! I told you to stay away from here!"

"Shit, Azimio, you're fucked now, you know that!" Dave yelled, pushing him back. "They're going to tell everyone, and you're going to get kicked out – Jesus, you might even go to _jail_. Do you realize what the hell you've _done_?"

Azimio was shaking his head frantically. "Damnit, I'm not going to jail! Or, I mean – fuck, it was just supposed to be a message! For Schuester and the rest of the Fag Pride Parade in Glee and, and to get Hummel the fuck out of here!"

"I'm stupid, but I'm not _this_ stupid," Dave ground out. "When I was thinkin' of roughing Hummel up, it was mostly bullshit, man, because there's no way we'd get away with that kind of crap – he'd tell on us as soon as he came to and how long 'til his Glee buddies point the fingers at us! Holy fuck –"

Ida had no idea what any of this crap meant for her and Kurt, but to hear them talking about it had her scooting back closer to him. He was shivering, the freezing water lapping against them both. He was also slipping a little, like he couldn't sit up anymore. When she turned to look at him, his eyelids were fluttering – and then he leaned over alarmingly fast, so fast it had to be painful, to throw up all over his lap. As soon as it was over, he was groaning quietly, coughing and then convulsing from some dry heaves. Ida recalled that this was one of the symptoms of a concussion, but had no clue what to do about it.

She rubbed at his back, trying to be soothing, gentle because she didn't know if there were even more horrible injuries under her hand, beneath the drenched and torn shirt. He had tears pouring down his face for sure this time – but he was oddly silent about the whole thing.

She looked up to glare at the two _fucking bastards_, seeing that both of them were staring at Kurt.

"Get the fuck out of here, man," Dave said finally, his gaze shifting to his feet. "Seriously, get the fuck out of here. I'll try and cover for you. It probably won't work but –"

"I'm not going to –"

_"JUST GO!"_ Dave's roar was powerful and frightening. Kurt jerked a little, an arm coming to brace his no doubt aching ribs. Ida pressed herself even closer to his side.

Azimio took off, swearing under his breath and running at breakneck speed.

Then things were strangely quiet – with the exception of the too-loud showerheads. Dave stood there for a moment, scanning his surroundings before bending over, picking up her phone from underneath a bench. Ida watched, not knowing what the hell to think, her observer's brain completely shut down and all inner commentaries silenced. He moved quickly, shutting off the showers and then flicking his eyes up to the graffiti, staying there for a few seconds. He turned away from it without a sound, coming to stand over them both.

Kurt was shivering much harder now, covered in blood and vomit, wrists tied together. But he was glaring defiantly at this new threat and this Dave guy was staring right back. It was a bizarre mirror to that vicious locker-slamming that had happened so many days ago – her caught in the middle, just barely on the sidelines, with these two on either side of her.

It went on for what felt like hours.

Dave licked his lips once and he broke the staring contest, looking at her for the first time since he came in. His eyes were dark and his face was expressionless. He held out her phone to her wordlessly, waiting until she reached up and grabbed it from him.

"Get help. Tell them everything . . . just, don't . . . I was never here." He said the last part not as a threat – it was too low, his voice cracking and thick – so it almost sounded like a plea, but she didn't want to go that far and humanize this prick. Dave whipped around, splashing and then stomping his way out.

Now it was the silence that was deafening.

Kurt had had enough apparently, because he moaned softly, slumping over until his head was in her lap, and he was splayed out, one bruised, bleeding, shuddering, wet mess all over the floor.

Ida stared at her phone, forgetting how to use the damn thing, stroking his hair as tenderly as she could. She began dialing as she finally felt her brain clicking back on again. She murmured random comforting things – things said to her after nightmares, accompanied by a warm glass of milk, when she was younger and smaller and . . . She heard a small whimper, but it wasn't from Kurt – he was unconscious. Her tears were hot and salty and she couldn't stop crying – her chest began to heave with sobs.

_"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **And I'm out of energy – these past two chapters were the most challenging I've ever written, I think. I had more fun with this one though – it was nice to not have to write from the point of view of a jerk :)

Sorry for the cliffhanger, but considering that I promised some Kurt POV, I'm sure you can make some reasonable predictions ;)

Now, I have to make another attempt at thanking you all for your continued awesomeness – some of your comments for the past chapter were so kind and encouraging, so helpful, that I wanted to give you all sunshine and lollipops and rainbows! *sends virtual!sunshine, lollipops and rainbows*

Next up, we will finally have Kurt's thoughts on all of this . . .


	6. No Expression

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_No Expression_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

In the end, it was so incredibly stupid how it all came about. So very, very stupid.

During the five-minute break just before last period, Kurt had been reading an e-mail from Blaine on his iPhone; it had a link to a fantastic article about the best revivals of _La Cages aux Folles_, from community theatre to Broadway, and it made him blissfully happy that they shared the same interests. A little _too _happy, the universe had apparently decided – he should have been paying more attention to his surroundings.

He was putting the phone into the inside pocket of his blazer when he was shoved so hard that he nearly flew off his feet. He barely had a chance to inhale back the air that had been knocked from his lungs when Azimio was pressing him into the lockers, almost completely covering him – Kurt leaned as far away as he could, which wasn't very far at all, considering he couldn't phase through walls.

As per usual, there was no reaction from the surrounding students other than a few 'oh, again?' expressions, and maybe the odd look of pity. Kurt wondered how being shoved and pushed around could magically make a person invisible.

A sudden irrational and panic-stricken thought flitted through his mind: _oh God, am I about to be kissed __**again**__?_ The jocks at this school tried to touch him as little as possible despite the various acts of abuse, and Azimio was pressed so close to Kurt that he seriously feared for his virtue – but then again, to have two closeted jocks creepily crushing on him and using him as a vehicle to express their confusion and self-hatred? A little too unlikely, even for his special brand of Murphy's Law type luck. Not to mention that there were people around and therefore no chance that Azimio would act on any gay urges in front of them.

"Heya, Homo Hummel." Azimio grinned nastily. "Heard you got some stones while I was gone – you buy 'em off e-bay?"

"No, I was born with the XY chromosomal combo, which comes with bonus testicles, although the slightest disruption in chromosomes can lead to various mental problems and deformations, such as your low IQ and your face."

Azimio's rage was palpable and scorching at this short distance, but he couldn't care less; he glared at the jock coolly and tried to squirm free.

Then Azimio was reaching under Kurt's blazer and the sexual assault idea came back full force – surely there was _no way_, not in a crowded school hallway – but even as Kurt panicked, Azimio was letting him go, backing away and waving Kurt's iPhone in his face.

"Try and take it from me, Hummel, and put those freshly bought balls to use. I'll just ditch it where you're gonna have to get down and dirty to get it back!" He turned and strolled down the hall. Kurt watched him go, saw him disappear into the boy's locker room. The hallways were clearing as people started to head into their respective last period classrooms and as the multitude dissipated, Kurt resigned himself to being late for class as he walked towards the locker room.

It was a stupid move what Azimio had done; it was juvenile and about as obvious as a thirty foot sign in blazing, tacky neon lights that screamed _'Danger, danger Kurt Hummel!' _But Kurt had been dealing with so much of this moronic bullying behaviour on his own, for what felt like his entire life, that even Mr. Schuester's abrupt transformation into a zero tolerance guru (which Kurt had found truly encouraging, but once he heard that Figgins wasn't backing it, his enthusiasm faded rather quickly) couldn't convince him to go to a teacher – and by that time, who knew what would've happened to his beloved phone? He shoved his bag into his locker, squared his shoulders and marched into the room, hoping that Azimio hadn't tried to flush his phone down a toilet or bury it in the laundry bins with all the jock straps. He shuddered at the mere thought of it.

He had just cleared the lockers when something crashed into his head, and the world went painfully dark in an instant.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

When Kurt opened his eyes, the world was grey and soft around the edges – like an old film, and he remembered discussing the awesomeness of _A Philadelphia Story_ with Mercedes, and they should totally have a Cary Grant and/or Jimmy Stewart marathon that weekend . . .

"Hey, you awake?"

That was not Mercedes, or his dad, or Finn or . . . _Oh God, oh no, oh please no_. His vision was clearing despite the ringing in his ears. There was bile rising in throat, his head throbbed unbelievably, and his face felt sticky and wet on one side, yet he managed to focus on the owner of that voice, who was standing above him and grinning.

"W-what the hell are you doing, Azimio!" Kurt tried to stand but his hands – he glanced down and realized that they were tied together, with his tie that was now probably wrinkled beyond saving . . . _Focus, Kurt, you're in serious shit here!_ The thought sounded much like something Mercedes would say, and it gave him the strength to at least push himself away from Azimio and sit up – a little too hasty on his part as it made him horribly dizzy. He noticed that his blazer and his vest were gone, which made him _mad_.

"Where the hell are my _clothes_, you heathen! You are so –"

He didn't know why, but the foot that struck him across the chest surprised him more than waking up tied up on the floor of the boy's locker room. He was knocked back and he wheezed, gasping in pain, tears springing to his eyes.

"Damn, Hummel, your voice really fucking aggravates me, you know that? Just shut up and take it like a man – or, you know, fake it."

And then he kicked him again, this time in the side. And again. And again. Kurt couldn't cry out, he didn't have enough oxygen in his lungs to do it. All he could do was release little half-gasps, half-sobs, incoherent noises that got caught in his throat. He begged for mercy inside his own head – the words never made it into open air.

"Now this is better, exactly where you should be, down in the dirt. You got anything to say now?"

He thought that he was crying, but he couldn't feel tears on his face. His ribs hurt so badly that he was seriously reconsidering the benefits of breathing, but he opened his eyes – still no tears – and stared at Azimio. There could only be one reason why this was happening. "I think you need some serious therapy, Azimio. And whatever Karofsky said to you, I didn't –"

"Didn't mouth off and act like a little bitch?" Another kick. Kurt breathed out afterwards, and he dimly wondered if maybe he was wrong about his initial assumption that Karofsky had told his friend that Kurt had sexually assaulted him. Azimio wasn't saying anything about it, but then, _why?_ Why the hell was this suddenly – the thought was lost as he cried out. Azimio had bent over, grabbing him by the hair. "You know what might help you, Hummel? A nice bath. Maybe we can wash the gay off you, huh?"

He shoved Kurt face first into the floor, grabbing him by his bound wrists and dragging him over to the showers. Kurt lashed out with his legs, shouting and trying to stand, but Azimio just turned and attacked his already injured side – Kurt was back to struggling for every breath. He was dumped in the middle of the tiled floor, near the large central drain, and Azimio started turning on showers. After a few minutes, the cold water started to pool and Kurt was getting wet. "C'mon, little girl, bath time!"

He was pulled and pushed under a freezing cold spray. Kurt coughed as he inhaled some of the water, turning away. Azimio pulled his head back, the spray hitting him directly in the face, forcing him to take in even more, and he couldn't _breathe_, _oh God_, he _couldn't breathe_ . . . Kurt went limp.

He waited until Azimio bent over him, held back any reactions when the clearly insane jock jabbed at him again. Kurt opened his eyes a sliver when he heard Azimio turning away, vaguely hearing him rummaging around for something. He wasn't going to wait to find out what.

He jumped up, ignoring the overpowering wave of nausea, the pain radiating from his torso, the fact that his vision was swimming, and he tried to run, but Azimio just grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt, pulling so hard that the seam ripped. Kurt kicked out – if there was one thing he could do, it was _kick_ – catching Azimio in the knee. The bully's leg folded and Kurt managed to slip free. But he couldn't move fast enough with his bound hands – Azimio was up and running again, this time tripping Kurt, forcing him to turn awkwardly to avoid falling – and then Azimio was grabbing at him again, his shirt ripping open down the front, buttons flying everywhere. Kurt's dizziness was not letting up and when Azimio tugged him, throwing him back down onto the freezing wet tiles, Kurt could only lie there, groaning under his breath, shutting his eyes tight so the world would stop spinning.

Azimio was _laughing_.

It infuriated Kurt, his wrath sending fresh, pounding adrenaline throughout his veins. His eyes flew open and he was yelling something, he wasn't sure what, but he tried to kick, hit with his hands, anything and everything, but all Azimio did was fall to his knees leisurely, and punch him once, fiercely hard, on the side of his head that was already hurting so badly. The edges of his vision were going dark and someone was tugging on his belt, which had him fighting unconsciousness with everything he had because this was _not happening_. His belt was pulled in one swift move from him and Kurt braced himself for those hands to return to unfasten jeans . . . but nothing. The relief lasted all of a second.

"You know, maybe you need a good old-fashioned whipping – maybe if your daddy had actually treated you more like a man, you'd _be_ one today."

The belt hitting his bare skin shocked him so badly he let out a scream. He tried to slide back, roll over, but all Azimio did was follow him, whipping at him periodically. "We're supposed to just . . . accept people like you, Hummel? Supposed to pretend that it's normal, that it isn't freakish? That you're not _wrong?_ We're supposed to _tolerate_ you?"

Kurt didn't scream at every impact of the belt, as Azimio just went at it every once in a while, not always catching his bare skin, but he couldn't help the odd high-pitched yelp when it snapped against his injuries, forcing him to twist and slide, thrashing in the water that was almost an inch high. And this, more than anything that had happened so far, was what hurt the most – burning tears were escaping from his eyes at last.

That belt was one of his favourites – Mercedes had picked it out for him because of the gorgeous silver treble cleft on the buckle . . . the buckle that was clutched in Azimio's large and sweaty hand.

"Feeling any manlier, Hummel?" Azimio asked casually, barely loud enough to be heard over the still-going showers, tossing the belt into some distant corner.

Kurt swallowed down any sobs and met his attacker's eyes, taking a deep breath and speaking in a trembling but firm tone, "I am more of a man in my silver dress and ten inch heels than you will _ever_ be."

Azimio's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he bent over Kurt, teeth grinding together . . . then a malicious grin was twisting his lips out of nowhere. "Maybe you can't be taught, but what if I go visit your dad, huh? What if I go _teach him a lesson_ for bringing such a fag into the world –"

That was _it_ – Kurt lashed out with his legs again, this time the aim and power of his kick had a specific target in mind. Azimio managed to duck and catch his foot before it could make an impact with his groin.

"That's a cheap shot, gay-boy."

"And lying in wait, threatening my father, attacking me with my hands tied – none of that is cheap, you asshole?" Kurt gasped out.

"Shut up."

It was after the third or fourth kick to his ribs that Kurt realized something – he could actually _die_ here. He could die here and be left on the floor of this locker room, half-naked and bloody and _oh God, dad _– for this father to come and identify his body, for him to lose his _son_ . . .

Kurt's mind broke, and so he did something that he felt ashamed to do, but _not_ at the same time because his _father _needed him. He wouldn't die here, he would _not_.

"Please!" It escaped him as a loud shout after one brutal kick caught his shoulder, and Azimio actually paused in his attack.

"Please, please, just stop . . . just stop it, please – don't kill me, let me go," he begged, not sure if Azimio could hear him above the sounds of the showers. Or if he would even care to hear. He kept his eyes shut, trying to hold back a fresh wave of tears. "Please . . . Azimio, _please_."

Kurt didn't know how long he lay there, breathing unevenly, waiting for further abuse. He heard Azimio splashing away for a moment, and then splashing back. He nudged Kurt's aching side, _hard_, prompting a moan from Kurt, but he didn't have the energy or the willpower to move away, at least not yet. His body was starting to shiver from the cold since he was absolutely drenched.

After some long minutes had passed, Kurt managed to open his eyes, seeing that Azimio had been spray painting the back wall of the showers – he was just finishing off the 'f' in what was likely going to be 'fags.' Kurt managed to scoff inside his own head: _original as always, these neanderthals_. It seemed, based on the other words that followed, that Azimio was sending a message not just to Kurt, but also to Mr. Schue.

Kurt had to try and get out of here. The meaning behind this was irrelevant – survival was all that mattered.

He rolled over onto his stomach, his fingers trying to seek purchase on the wet tiles. Azimio had tied his wrists tightly, but not so much as to cut off circulation. He shifted forward. One inch. He grit his teeth. _Not good enough, Hummel_. He gathered all his energy and tried again. Two inches, and his ribs were screaming at him to stop.

"Where are you goin', Hummel?"

_No, no, no_, Kurt screamed in his own head and he tried to move again, tried to stand – a big foot came down onto the middle of his back, shoving him and pressing him into the floor, old bruises and new ones flaring up.

Maybe Azimio didn't intend to kill him, but Kurt did not trust the sick bastard to know when enough was enough. Kurt was already sure that he couldn't handle another round of kicks, and maybe he was internally bleeding already.

"L-l-leave me alone! S-stop this! _Please!_" He would do anything at this point to end it, to get back to his father and stop being in pain – stop being so cold and scared.

He cried out as Azimio pulled hard on his legs, his precious few inches of headway gone in a matter of seconds.

"You're bleedin' all over your fancy clothes, princess. Lemme help you with that!"

He was pulled and tossed directly under another shower, the shock of cold even more powerful and he couldn't breathe again, hacking up a lung as he tried to clear the water from it.

"Can't swim, fairy?"

Kurt didn't want to give up, couldn't give up, for his father's sake, but it was going dark again, and he could feel himself sagging downwards . . . "C'mon, Hummel, wakey wakey." His foot connected with Kurt hard and fast, and Kurt couldn't cry out too loudly due to the water he was breathing in. He just wanted to pass out now – maybe Azimio would back off once he was unconscious.

Then something happened – something marvelous. A deafening scream overpowered the pouring water, and Kurt leaned back from the spray as Azimio almost fell on his ass in shock. Through blurry, waterlogged eyes Kurt could make out the form of a girl, standing just beyond the showers, straight and glaring, and her screamed words still echoing:

_"Leave him the fuck alone!"_

He had no clue who she was, but Kurt was willing to build an entire religion around her and be her chief priest for the rest of his life.

His gratitude and surge of protectiveness for a girl, who was risking everything to save someone she didn't even know, got him through the rest of this horror, and kept him sane and conscious as Karofsky dropped in and uncharacteristically saved them both. Kurt could actually think, through the haze of his semi-conscious mind, that maybe he had overestimated Karofsky's denial of his true nature . . . or maybe the other boy simply wasn't as insane as his friend. But that didn't change or forgive the years of torment – of associating willingly with someone crazy enough to do what Azimio had just done.

It was a start, though. Maybe. _God_, everything hurt and even though his stomach was empty, he felt another round of heaving creeping up on him.

Despite all that, he stared into Karofsky's eyes, unwilling to bend, unwilling to show Karofsky any hint of weakness beyond his outward appearance. He silently tried to make him see that he was still himself despite Azimio's attempt terrorize him into submission; even covered in his bodily fluids, bruises, and torn clothing, he was _still_ not willing to apologize for being who he was. But there was something new and shifting inside of him – a sharp fear and shame that he couldn't . . . He was seeing double – things were grey again and there was cotton in his ears . . . but he wouldn't let this particular jerk think anything different of him.

He won the staring contest. The other boy dropped his eyes and that had used up the last of Kurt's remaining energy. He slumped, only vaguely hearing Karofsky telling the girl to get help or something – then he was doing down, down, down into blessedly warm and cozy blackness.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was the beeping that woke Kurt up at first. It was permeating his unconscious mind, disrupting his quiet, his peace, and it was verging on Rachel Berry in terms of annoyance levels. Kurt was going to kill the beeping sound because wasn't it evident that he was trying to _sleep_ here? Stupid beep.

"Kurt? Kurt, hey. Hey, kiddo, c'mon, open your eyes for me."

That was his dad, and Kurt could never refuse him . . . Well, he could and had in the past, but not when he was pleading, sounding so tired, so broken. What if he needed Kurt's help? Oh God, what if he _really_ needed Kurt's help?

His lids lifted slowly. Once he had them open, he didn't register the white walls, the uncomfortable not-really-cotton sheets or anything else. He just zeroed in on his father, who was white-faced and had dark circles under his eyes, and _what had happened?_ He tried to sit up, trying to reach for him, but the pain in what felt like his _whole_ body stopped him before his father could stand and place gentle hands on his shoulders. "God, Kurt, stop, slow down, you're s-safe." He choked around the last word. Kurt stared up at him, at the tears rolling down his father's face. _Safe? Safe from what?_

"That asshole who did this to you . . . Azimio . . . he can't hurt you anymore."

It took Kurt a moment to gather himself and his memories: he'd been walking to class, and reading something on his phone . . . and Azimio had slammed him into . . . Kurt gasped wetly, a hand coming up to his mouth – every single horrifying moment of his time in the locker room came to him like a blow to the head. It actually made him dizzy, half reclined in a hospital bed and so his eyes shut, trying to block out the rush of the showers ringing in his ears, the sounds of his own gasps and cries.

_"Damn, Hummel, your voice really fucking aggravates me, you know that? Just shut up and take it like man – or, you know, fake it."_

_"Now this is better, exactly where you should be, down in the dirt. You got anything to say now?"_

He opened his eyes and stared at his father, mouth gaping. _Someone nearly killed me. Azimio almost killed me, may have tried to kill me, and I was cold and wet and alone and it hurt _– his breath started coming out in pants, his chest aching, his eyes wide and burning from lack of blinking.

His dad grabbed his hand, squeezing. "Listen, you're at St. Anne's right now. The doctors said you might experience some memory loss or –"

"No such luck," Kurt croaked out. He squeezed his eyes shut and then popped them open again, looking around, staring at the plain hospital room. The only colours were coming from the flowers on the windowsill and the table against the wall. And those balloons so big that they touched the ceiling. And were those _more_ flowers on the extra chair?

"Your friends were all here yesterday, but most of those came in just this morning. Those balloons are from your French teacher. Carole baked you some low-fat cookie type things – she said you really liked those the last time she made them for Friday night dinner. And I think there's some candy and things from –"

"How long?" Kurt asked, quiet and trembling. _Did that really just happen? That someone hates me enough to nearly kill me, just for being who I am?_

His father squeezed him again before letting go and wiping his own face clean of tears. Kurt studied the bags under his red-rimmed eyes again, and through his own confusion he felt a stab of concern. His father really couldn't afford to be like this right now; he needed sleep, and he'd likely not eaten anything either in the past . . . however long he'd been here.

"Ah, just under a day. You came in yesterday afternoon and it's" – he glanced down at his watch – "half past eleven in the morning. Damn, I should get a doctor."

"_No, no._" Kurt would have shouted if he had the ability. The panic that seized him was shocking in its urgency and power. He snatched up his father's arm. "You need to stay, you have to stay with me."

His father put a hand on Kurt's thigh. "I wasn't planning on leaving, kiddo. Here, look, I'll just push the call button." He did so and Kurt calmed down almost instantly. Now he was mostly just tired, though a slight undercurrent of fear ran beneath his exhaustion.

"Dad –"

A nurse poked her head into the room, stepping in fully when she saw that Kurt was awake.

"Oh thank goodness." She smiled, pushing back a wavy strand of black hair. "It's nice to see you awake, Kurt! You sure are making a lot of people of very happy opening those pretty blue eyes. Let me go get your doctor, okay?"

Kurt hardly glanced at her as she left. "Dad – dad – tell me –"

"Kurt, I-I . . ." His father scrubbed at his face. "I know you have questions, and so do I – so just wait 'til after the doctor checks you over, and then we'll talk."

Kurt settled back onto his pillows, right as the doctor showed up, also all smiles. She was tall and redheaded . . .

_"Leave him the fuck alone!"_

Like that girl. She'd tried to help – her intervention may have even saved his life and she almost got herself seriously hurt as a result. What had happened to her?

He waited until the examinations were all over with. According to Dr. Macaulay, he had been 'lucky'. He'd escaped with a few cracked ribs, minimal internal damage, a very mild case of hypothermia, and while his concussion had been serious, his waking up and retention of his memories were both signs of an imminent full recovery. Most of this went over Kurt's head – he heard the words, but they held no real meaning to him. He was still wavering between a frigid locker room and this too-soft, too-kind reality. His dad thanked the doctor and as she was leaving, she promised that Kurt could head home maybe as early as the next morning.

The two sat in silence for a time before Kurt began tentatively, "There, there was a girl in there with me . . ."

"Yeah." His father smiled a bit. "I met her – her name is . . . oh, crap, I can't – it's something short though. Eva? Ede? Anyway, she's fine. Her ankle's going to be messed up for a couple of weeks, and she's a little jumpy, but what she did for you, son – that was somethin' else. I'm gonna be grateful to her for the rest of my life. I feel lousy for not remembering her name." His smile turned rueful and he was gripping Kurt's hand again. "I asked her to try and come by today to see you, or to call us and come over to the house once we get you home. Either way, you'll see her again real soon."

Kurt nodded, glancing down at his sheets, then at the monitors and their wretched beeping, at the IV in his other hand, (there was light bruising around his wrist, around both his wrists – he resisted the urge to hide both hands beneath the blankets) and then back up at his father, who appeared to have been waiting for him to make eye contact.

"The police are going to come by and talk to you later –"

"The police?" Kurt interrupted, surprised. When had they come into this?

His father stared at him. "Yeah, Kurt, the _police_. You best believe we're going to press charges against that – that –"

"Wait a minute, when did – dad, the last thing I remember is laying on the floor." _So cold, shivering_. "Could you maybe rewind things for me? Who called the police?"

His dad leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes before he spoke, "Well, first off, it was that Eva girl who called the cops. I'm not too clear on what happened after that. Finn and Mercedes tried to explain it to me, but they're not too sure themselves. It sounds like there was something like a riot that broke out when that girl started shouting at some jocks, and Finn almost murdered that Karofsky jackass right there in the hallway as they were wheeling you out."

Kurt listened, feeling his eyes widening. Chaos and rioting? How had he missed this? And where was Azimio in all that?

"And then a bunch of the guys from your Glee club got in on it, and that Latina cheerleader almost bit the ear off of –"

"_Santana?_ But –"

"Lemme finish, kiddo. Anyway, they had to call in more police to get everyone to calm down. Schuester took a few good knocks himself trying to keep things from getting too bloody – 'bout half of your friends were in the hospital yesterday, getting looked at. And the rest were just here, waiting for news on you."

Kurt tried to absorb all of this, but it was too much and for some reason he was feeling cold – his body was starting to shiver. _Cold, wet, can't breathe_. He tugged on his blankets as his father pulled an extra one from the foot of the bed, unfolding and covering Kurt with it, tucking it in tenderly around his body.

"What happened after that?" Kurt asked, his shivers subsiding somewhat.

"Kurt, I don't know. Eva told the cops everything that happened, but I wasn't . . . She talked to me after . . . They tracked down that Azimio asshole – he was hiding out in his own basement. He really thought that he was going to get away with it, the little prick. And as for the rest, you'll have to talk to Mercedes when she gets here." His dad raised a shaky hand to his face. "Before the cops come by to take your statement . . . did you want to talk about what happened with me?"

Kurt swallowed hard at the sight of that trembling limb, sitting up again, leaning in close to his father. He knew it – no sleep, no food. It was a miracle the man hadn't collapsed already and Kurt was _not_ going to let that happen. He grabbed his dad's hand in both of his, unobtrusively trying to take his pulse. "Dad, are you okay? Do you want to lie down and I can call a nurse and –"

His father let loose a harsh sound, something between a sob and a laugh. "Quit acting like I'm the one in the hospital bed. I'm fine."

"Oh God." Kurt held on tightly to his dad. _Ceaseless kicks to his torso, realizing he could die, and his father . . . _"When they called you, you must've – I could have given you another heart attack and all because I was stupid, so stupid –"

"Hey!" His father shifted onto the bed quickly, two hands on Kurt's shoulders again, but this time Kurt flinched backwards hard at the sudden movement. His dad must have seen it, must have felt it, but he didn't drop his hands; he pulled him into an embrace so gentle Kurt could barely feel it . . . except that he did, and it was warm. His dad smelled a bit like Old Spice and he breathed in deeply, shutting his eyes and trying to focus on the sound of his dad's voice. "You are _not_ stupid. None of this is your fault, it's all that sonuvabitch who did this to you, and your useless principal and his staff and there's a million and one people to blame, none of them you."

Kurt nodded, trying to appease his father, but he didn't believe it. How could he have been so oblivious, so naive to think that something like this wouldn't happen to him? He inhaled sharply – there was that faint smell of engine oil, grease, beneath the Old Spice. _I like musicals, I fix cars with my dad, I can kick a football between two metal poles and walk in ten-inch heels . . . This doesn't change any of that. It doesn't._

"You know, someone else came by yesterday to see you," his father said as he pulled away slowly.

"Who?" Kurt was tugging the blankets back up – why couldn't he get warm?

"Some kid from that Dalton place you were telling me about – Blaine?"

"_Blaine_ was here?" Kurt completely forgot about the blankets, staring at his father in amazement.

"Well, yeah, Mercedes called him for you. The kid showed up, freaking out almost as bad as she was and he kept apologizing to me, trying to tell me that this was all _his _fault."

Kurt tried to organize his thoughts, but things were getting jumbled in his head. He looked down at the IV – did they have him on painkillers or something? It didn't feel like it since everything ached. _And Blaine had been here?_

"Mercedes called him?" he repeated.

"Yeah, but that's not the point, kiddo." Was that a _smile_ on his father's face?

"You didn't mention him to me when you were talkin' 'bout that place. And you've been buddies for a week now or somethin'?"

Kurt was suddenly itching for his phone; he need to text Blaine and . . . but wait, he'd never gotten his phone back from Azimio, had he? It was probably long gone – smashed, or tossed or flushed. _And it's replaceable. Stop it._

He cleared his throat. "Blaine was the friend I went to for help, after the whole thing with Karofsky. He's . . . he's gay and he understood some of what I was going through – he volunteered to drive down and try to talk to Karofsky with me . . . It didn't work. He took me out for lunch. At Breadstix. And we've been talking a lot since then, and um, we were supposed to meet up this weekend . . . I was going to tell you, dad!"

His father just chuckled and he looked less tired as he did so. It relaxed Kurt to see it, albeit marginally.

"I know – that Blaine kid can go a mile a minute when he's nervous. When the doctors told us you were going to be fine, I told him he could come by and see you today too. Actually, I think he and Mercedes are coming in together."

Kurt didn't know whether to be thrilled or frightened by that prospect. He settled for a smile, since his dad seemed to be amused.

Then the amusement faded. "Kurt? Did you want to talk to me? Tell me what happened before the police get here?"

Kurt burrowed down under his blankets, ignoring a brief, sharp flare of pain from his already aching ribs. He reached up to brush his bangs away from his forehead, inwardly bemoaning the lack of hairspray, feeling a large bandage across his temple from where Azimio had hit him the first time, knocking him unconscious.

_"We're supposed to just . . . accept people like you, Hummel? Supposed to pretend that it's normal, that it isn't freakish? That you're not __**wrong**__? We're supposed to __**tolerate**__ you?"_

Kurt shook his head. "No. I'd rather just . . . say it once and then leave it behind me."

"Okay, but you need to know that later on, you're gonna have to talk about it with –"

"No, I won't!" Kurt cracked, angry at the tears surging from his eyes – no more tears, he _wasn't_ going to give that bastard _anymore_ tears. "I mean, maybe, dad, but for now, can we just . . ." Kurt sucked in a quick, rasping breath. His father watched him without saying anything, but Kurt could feel how hurt, how scared he was. "Dad, I don't want you in here when I tell the police."

"Not happening." Instant response, stern and brooking no argument.

Kurt tried anyway. "But dad –"

"Are you kidding me? Kurt, you're a minor, so I have every right to be here when you're talking to them. I am going to be with you _every single step of the way_. I'm going to stick by you, and maybe one day I'll get used to you leaving my sight again, but until then, you are _mine_ twenty four seven. You have no idea what that phone call from Schuester did to me – I, I . . ." There were tears carving tracks down his dad's face again, and that made Kurt's own tears fight for release. No, he didn't want this for his father.

"That's exactly why! Oh, God, dad, when I was lying there, I was so scared that you would, would have another heart attack or –"

"Kurt, I'm _fine_ now," his father insisted, not bothering to wipe away the wet streaks on his cheeks this time. "Listen to me, as much as it killed me to hear what happened – the fact that you were alive . . . Jesus, kiddo, that was more than enough to keep me going, you don't have to worry about that. I need you to worry about _yourself_ for a change. Tell me if you really need something. You have no problems askin' me for a raised credit card limit or some new rims for your SUV, or ranting about Glee, but stuff like this, stuff that _matters_, you keep your mouth shut. And no more, Kurt. From now on you tell _me_. You tell your friends. You tell your teachers – whatever you need to keep you safe and comfortable, because if there is ever a next time . . . it won't be a heart attack you'll have to worry about. It'll be visiting me in jail because I will _kill_ the next son of a bitch who thinks he can lay a hand on you."

Kurt had to press the heels of his hands into his eyes to keep from crying. It was over, it was _over_, so why couldn't he just be grateful for being alive? Why couldn't things just go back to . . . But he didn't want things to go back normal. Not really. Going back to being locker slammed and taunted in the hallways – it filled him with a terror he'd never felt before. And shame – there was this lingering shame he couldn't shake. And what if Azimio's friends wanted revenge or . . .

"Schue's already put in for the school board to expel the creep, filed a compliant for your safety. And he and the cops talked to me about pursuing assault charges, and I said yes. And I told him to bring in that Karofsky boy while they were at it –"

"Dad!" Kurt exclaimed. "Why? He didn't –"

"That girl told me – told the cops – that he was there. But she said he stopped the other bastard. That he gave her a phone to call the police with. But Schue wants to bring him up anyway, since he –"

"I'm not pressing charges against Karofsky," Kurt said, surprising himself with that announcement.

His father scrubbed at his face again. "Why? You could _out_ the son of bitch, you could –"

"He's messed up and he's a jerk, but he's not Azimio. He _stopped_ Azimio. I'm not going to speak up on his behalf, but I'm not going to press charges against him for something he had no part in."

"Schuester says Karofsky's probably going to just get suspended or something if we don't press charges," Burt warned. "But if you don't want to kiddo, that's fine. I'll call Schue up and let him know. And I'll tell the cops too."

"Good," Kurt said, sighing. "I don't think it's going to be fun facing him when he gets back from being suspended, but –"

"What are you talking about?" His dad was looking at him incredulously. "Are you already talkin' 'bout going back to school? To McKinley?"

Kurt nodded, ignoring the flicker of fear that just would not go away, trying to keep his face expressionless. "I have to go back sometime."

His father barked out a laugh. "Are you crazy? Like you are ever setting foot in there again. I've already got an application to Dalton sitting on my desk at home. That Blaine kid gave me the number for their admissions office and told me there's a good chance for you getting admitted under special circumstances – and maybe a couple of scholarships, which won't kick in 'til next year, but still, there's that help."

"You're sending me to _Dalton_?" Kurt squeaked, a hand coming up to his chest, clutching at his hospital gown.

"Kurt, I am _not_ letting you go back there. I don't care if Schuester's actually likely to get some zero tolerance justice going on, I don't care if they hire you armed body guards and ninjas, you are _not_ going back to McKinley."

Kurt thought something like that would thrill him to no end: no more jock abuse, no more taunts and no more feeling horribly alone every time he was slammed into walls and lockers. But mostly he was just tired. He realized that he would be leaving behind Mercedes and New Directions . . . and slushies and dumpster tosses. It was a mixed bag, more complicated than he thought it would be. A part of him – the stubborn, diva part – was balking, annoyed at having endured so much, for such a long time, and suddenly just turning tail and running. Then again, he wasn't stupid, or at least he wasn't going to be stupid this time. He'd been assaulted, viciously, and Azimio wasn't the only person to trip and slam him around hallways in that school.

"Okay, dad, okay." Kurt exhaled, his eyes fluttering shut. He was so, so tired. Maybe whatever crappy meds they had him on were finally kicking in.

"You should have seen the look on Blaine's face when I asked him for this stuff," Burt said softly, and Kurt could hear the smile. "Like I just made his year. I think you might have a fan, Kurt."

Kurt felt tingling warmth at that, from far away, but it was nice all the same.

"He seems like a good guy. Mercedes told me you two are just friends but . . . I think you could do a lot worse, for a first boyfriend, I mean. If you think you might want try for something with him, when you're ready."

And really, his father approving a boyfriend for Kurt should've made him wake up and react, in some way, but . . . He yawned.

"Yeah, they said you wouldn't be able to stay awake for long at first. You sleep, kiddo, everything else can wait. And I ain't goin' no where."

_"Where are you goin', Hummel?"_

Kurt shuddered and whimpered, but a rough, familiar hand was on his forehead, another hand clutching his own, stroking the back of it. "No, no, Kurt, no nightmares. Enough is enough. I'm here, okay? Nothing's going to get you, not anymore."

If there was anyone in the world Kurt trusted, it was his dad. If he said the monsters in the closet and under his bed weren't real, he believed him. If he said that his mom loved him, for always, even after she was gone, Kurt believed him even if he didn't believe in God or in heaven. And if his father said that he was safe, that he was okay now, and things were going to get better? Whether or not he believed it himself, he let the weight of words settle in his mind and pull him towards a peaceful slumber.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the wait, and sorry for the violence – I just really needed to establish Kurt's view of the events. Some of you may consider it overkill, but I had to know what he was thinking during all of that . . . and I needed to know everything Azimio did to him and unfortunately sometimes I don't know these things unless I write them out. While I did find it easier to write Kurt's POV, gah, this was still hard in some ways – maybe because now instead of building towards something, we're coming down from the action – now it's all about aftermath. *shrugs* I _love_ aftermath – but writer's block does strike at random times.

I'm no longer sure how many chapters, exactly, this story will have – but we are nearing the end. For now, it's looking like Burt's POV next chapter, and then maybe an epilogue from Ida's POV. I was debating adding a Mercedes chapter after Burt's POV . . . Actually, it's looking more and more like that might happen, as I'm writing. You wonderful people are completely to blame for the epilogue idea, by the way ;)

And speaking of your wonderfulness: I have _never _felt as proud or as humbled as you all have made me feel with some of your comments on the previous chapter – proud that you liked Ida so much, and humbled by your praises or your truly inspiring/helpful comments on the chapter in general.

You. Are. All. **EPIC.** Times infinity. With 'totally awesome' a la AVPM stamped all over you.


	7. Drown My Sorrow

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Drown My Sorrow_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Burt was watching his son.

Kurt was asleep on the couch, hardly moving, but clearly breathing.

Burt had been doing that a lot for the past couple days, starting in the hospital room, and now that his kid was home – watching Kurt, being around Kurt, not capable of stepping away for more than the few minutes it took him to go to the bathroom or take a shower. To get him a glass of water. To grab his painkillers.

Carole was sitting opposite Burt on the loveseat, watching both him and his son. Her eyes did that gleaming thing they did whenever they looked Kurt's way. She had cried for hours after Burt had called her from the hospital; she'd shown up and fussed over Finn, tears still pouring down her face. And she'd been angry too. Extremely so.

Something he and everyone who knew Kurt had in common.

_How could this happen? Who let it happen? Why did it happen at all?_

Mercedes came into the room, holding a mug of hot tea and sitting back down in her previous position with Kurt's huge feet in her lap. She smiled at both Burt and Carole. Finn came in next, holding a plate of cookies. _Just for him_, Burt thought, amused. Carole was already munching on a bowl of popcorn and Burt couldn't have any more sugary crap. Wonderful sugary crap. Even just one, apparently.

"No, Burt," Carole said softly from across the room. Mercedes snorted into her hand as Burt shot his girlfriend a plaintive look.

Finn sat down on the floor, next to Mercedes' legs, and started eating the cookies, oblivious. The movie, _A Philadelphia Story_, was playing, the volume so low it was practically muted. Kurt had fallen asleep less than half way through and, for some reason, none of them bothered to turn it off. They just let it go on, half watching the screen, half watching Kurt dozing. Mostly watching Kurt.

Mercedes was tenderly stroking her best friend's legs, sipping on her tea, eyes glazed over as she turned to the screen.

The first person Burt had bumped into at the hospital had been Mercedes, and she had been a mess, possessed in equal parts by anger and grief.

_Burt ripped into that place fast enough to frighten the crap out of two orderlies hanging around the emergency room doors – they practically fell over as he breezed past them, a blur of panic. He was opening his mouth, preparing to yell for his son, for anyone who might know where he was, when another equally, if not faster blur ran into him._

_"Oh God, Mr. Hummel, oh, Kurt." Then there was crying and Burt's arms were coming up, hugging Mercedes tightly for a brief moment before pulling her back and bending to look her in the eye. _

_"Mercedes, tell me, tell me what happened! Is he okay?"_

_It took a minute for her to calm down enough to speak, and in the meantime her cries were incomprehensible, a jumble of words and noises. He waited with all the patience he could muster._

_"He's . . . he's alive, and stable." Mercedes breathed in deeply. "But the doctors say that they won't talk to anyone but you and . . ."_

_"Okay," he said, and that was a start, but not nearly enough to satisfy him. He caught sight of a desk, surrounded by nurses and other staff, and started to march over to it._

_"Mr. Hummel." Mercedes grabbed onto his arm, squeezing tightly. "He . . ." She swallowed hard, but the tears kept pouring down her face, "He was unconscious and there was blood, and I'm sorry, I know you're freaking out right now, but I just . . . he's my best friend and can I just . . . can I be with you when you go see the doctor? Please. I can't . . ." The girl was wheezing by this point, as if her throat was closing up. "It's too much and I can't stand another second of not knowing. Please."_

_Burt wrapped his hand around hers, tugging her along. "Let's go, Mercedes."_

_He walked up to the nurses and asked for his son, and as he saw them whip into action to track down the doctor responsible for Kurt, he turned to the girl, asking lowly, "The person or people who did this to him?"_

_"That girl who saved him – the cops are talking to her right now – she said it was just one . . . Azimio." Her voice went ice cold, shaking like she was, but oddly detached too. "He better pray the cops find him first, Mr. Hummel, 'cause with all due respect to you and your shotgun, I want to take him apart. Nice and slow. And I've got about a dozen other people who want a piece of him."_

_The rage in her eyes was almost frightening – no teenager should know that level of anger. Or sadness. Burt couldn't find it in him to be intimidated or worried by her, because given half a chance, he would do the same. He would do things these kids couldn't even fathom to the piece of crap that dared hurt his child._

_"We're gonna take care of Kurt first, Mercedes," he said softly. _And then we'll rip into the little bastard that did this_, he promised himself darkly. Whether or not it would happen was inconsequential – the rage kept him from breaking into tears, kept him from falling to his knees and begging any and all deities to spare his son any more pain, to keep Kurt alive and whole._

Burt watched the girl now as she sipped her drink and cast a searching eye on Kurt every few seconds. The rage in her had dimmed once she knew that Kurt was going to be fine; she had been sitting, content and calm, in the back of the SUV with his son as they drove back from the hospital early that morning. Mercedes filled the silence, chattering away about this celebrity or that red-carpet outfit. Kurt had been smiling a little and making small one-sentence comments here and there. Burt was so grateful to this amazing teenager – this amazing young woman who so loved his son.

"Hey, uh, mom, do you think Kurt will care if I finish off those cookies you made him?" Finn said, looking up from a now empty plate. Burt couldn't help making a face – as great as Carole was at baking, he firmly believed in high sugar content when it came to cookies and cakes, otherwise, what was the point?

"Go on, Finn." Carole exchanged a fond smile with Burt over her son's head. "I can always make more."

Finn leapt to his feet at that announcement, pausing to ask if Mercedes wanted some too. She shook her head as he walked around the couch to head towards the kitchen. He took a second on his way to tuck the blanket around Kurt a little higher up, to just under the boy's chin.

Burt was grinning ear to ear, and Carole was too, while wiping discretely at a stray tear.

When Burt had come upon Finn (and the rest of Kurt's glee club) at the hospital, it had been the one thing that could distract him from the doctor's description of his son's injuries.

_It took Burt a long time to calm down after Dr. Macaulay described every bit of suffering his son was going through – the hypothermia (what the hell?), the head injury, the cracked ribs, and the details pertaining to each one. All the anger, fear and grief had mixed into a lead ball of nausea and he couldn't, just could _not _deal with it. He'd forgotten about Mercedes at his side, who was crying again, cursing between sobs and praying when she managed to calm herself down once more._

_After the doctor's reassurances that Kurt would likely be okay (though it depended on when and how he woke up), that soon he could go into the room and sit with his kid, Burt managed to slowly come back to the real world – enough to actually take in his surroundings._

_Which included various police officers and paramedics – and at least half, no, wait, _all _of the Glee club. He spotted Finn, who was sitting in a corner, fuming, with an officer . . . standing guard?_

_"Finn?" He approached the boy, Finn's head whipping up, apparently seeing Burt for the first time._

_"Burt!" He jumped to his feet, the officer next to him saying nothing, but still keeping an evaluating stare on him as Burt came to stand in front of the tall teenager. He took stock of the black eye, the bruised and bleeding knuckles, the tape around his wrist and his stiff posture._

_"Jesus, I thought that it was just Kurt." Burt reached out, putting a careful hand on Finn's shoulder. "You okay, buddy?"_

_Finn shook his head, dismissing Burt's concern, but he covered the hand on his shoulder with his own. "I'm fine, forget about me, how's Kurt?"_

_"He'll be okay, the doctor says." Burt was trying to reassure himself even as he was reassuring Finn. "But, c'mon now, you haven't told me what happened."_

_"I don't know exactly what happened to Kurt, but when the police and the ambulance showed up . . . The teachers tried to keep us in class, but we went to the hallway anyway, and then they were keeping everyone away from the locker room, and first they wheeled this girl out, and she was crying and stuff. And then . . ." Finn mouthed wordlessly, staring over Burt's shoulder. "Then came Kurt. And we all just freaked out. Mercedes wouldn't let them take him, she just kept screaming 'who did this?' and that girl, she started screaming at a few of the guys on the football team – she said Azimio had done it and they were all denying that Azimio would do something like this. I just . . . I couldn't stop staring at the blood. And how white he was."_

_Finn was looking green at this, and Burt could relate – he didn't think he would ever be able to get rid of the sick feeling in his stomach. "I saw Karofsky, and he's like, Azimio's best friend, and he tortures Kurt just as bad, and I . . . I lost it. I threw the first punch. And then everything just exploded."_

_"It was actually pretty awesome, Mr. Hummel."_

_Burt turned to see Artie being wheeled over by Brittany, who looked a little the worse for the wear herself. Artie was sporting a bruise high on his forehead, and he was squinting – his glasses were missing._

_"Finn starts whaling on Karofsky and a bunch of the guys on the football team and some hockey jocks were either trying to stop him, or hitting him. When we all tried to help, it was like the whole school got in on it."_

_"I broke Adam Silverman's nose," Brittany announced. "And then I told him Kurt was a better kisser than him. Which is true. And he has duck-fat soft baby hands. But I didn't get to tell Adam that. Puck tackled him before I could."_

_A curtain whipped open somewhere further down from them, and a male nurse was complaining, "You need to sit down! That –"_

_"My head is fine, dude," Puck growled – Burt saw the mohawk before he saw the blood-splattered shirt. "I didn't even black out. Unlike that douchebag that I –"_

_"Shut the fuck up, Puckerman." Now it was that Latina cheerleader, coming around a corner, tugging her jacket up over her shoulders, a few bruises dotting the right side of her face. As she got closer, Burt saw she was also sporting bloodstained clothes, and her face had smudges of it around and on her lips. "There are a bunch of cops around, you moron."_

_She smiled winningly at a couple of the officers staring at Mokawk Boy suspiciously. "He's babbling nonsense – head injury." The cops found somewhere else to stare. Burt figured it was the fact that the blood smeared on her mouth was somewhat off putting, especially considering she had no split lip or missing teeth or bloody nose._

_He took further stock of his surroundings. He saw the new blonde kid – Sam – getting his knuckles looked at, the doctor disinfecting the deep scrapes that covered them. Quinn was at his side – her lip was split and bleeding but she seemed fine otherwise. There was Mike Chang, with Tina standing by him, and a doctor checking his wrist and shoulder, before telling him he'd dislocated the shoulder; Burt couldn't help but wincing, because that was going to hurt like a bitch, and then some._

_The police milling around seemed to be keeping an eye on all the kids, including a few Burt didn't recognize, as they weren't part of the Glee club, and so were likely either the jock side of this battle or collateral damage. Finn was the only one who had his own personal escort, though, which didn't sit well with him._

_He faced the cop. "Look, this boy here is my responsibility – any reason why you can't leave him with me?"_

_The officer shifted uncomfortably under Burt's stare. "He may or may not be charged with assault. The boy he attacked is still unconscious and here at the hospital –"_

_"That . . . boy," Burt managed not to say 'bastard', but only just, "may be an accomplice in my son's assault. Finn here is good friends with my kid and I'm dating his mom, so he's practically family too. I think you can understand his reaction now. I'll take care of him – he won't be skipping town or nothing if that . . . boy's . . . parents want to press charges."_

_Mercedes had been silent up until this point, but she snorted incredulously at that. "Karofsky press charges? After all the crap he's put Kurt through and Finn giving him his just desserts and now he –" She broke off, growling angrily. Burt nodded along, putting a hand on her shoulder. She smiled briefly at him before crossing her arms and glaring at the cop._

_That's when he noticed her bruised knuckles._

_It made him grin suddenly. Finn caught his eye, and then glanced pointedly at Mercedes and back again. He was grinning too, and mouthing something over her head: 'Really damn scary.'_

_Burt pulled her to his side and led Finn away from the officer without another word. The glee club fell in line or at least those that weren't under the charge of nurses or doctors. Mercedes started to ramble about how Finn had totally kicked Karofsky's ass – no contest – and how most of the school had taken their side – the loser side – and completely dominated the jocks. Finn broke in now and again with Figgins' reaction. Schuester apparently was in another part of the hospital, getting stitches put in his head after one jock didn't respond kindly to being restrained and shoved the man hard against an open locker, slicing his temple._

The ringing of the doorbell jerked Burt out of his reminiscing. He immediately looked towards Kurt, but his kid was still passed out; he didn't do more than make a disgruntled noise and turn to face the back of the couch. Mercedes winced as one of his feet jabbed her in the side, but once he stilled she just resettled herself, resuming her even strokes.

Finn stood up to answer the door and while he did that, Burt glanced up at the clock – it was only two in the afternoon. They'd brought Kurt home from the hospital at around nine that morning and Burt, despite several hours of being back in his own house, everyone present and accounted for, couldn't quite make peace with the idea that the worst was over with. Some part of his mind kept to that plain white room, with his unconscious son. He didn't think he'd ever be able to shake that off – not ever. That lead ball was still in his belly and even glancing over at his slumbering boy every few seconds didn't ease the ever-present nausea in him. Not with those bruises colouring Kurt's face, the nasty cut on his temple, and the slight twitches when he jostled his injured ribs.

"Hello, Mr. Hummel, Mrs. Hudson," came a soft, polite tone from over his shoulder.

Burt turned in his armchair to see Finn leading Blaine into the living room. The boy was out of uniform, dressed in jeans and a fancy sweater, sort of like a few of the tamer ones that Kurt owned. He was also shifting a bit on his feet, his eyes flicking to each person in the room, a charming half-smile for all of them, and a slightly wider one for Mercedes.

Finn pointed towards the couch and Blaine leaned up onto the balls of his feet to see Kurt sprawled there, asleep. Burt saw both guilt and relief twist the boy's features; it was an odd combination, but then again, Blaine did seem to feel that this was all his fault somehow – something Burt saw in the other Glee kids too. Burt had heard more apologies in the past two days than he figured a Catholic priest heard in a year.

Burt gestured towards Carole, who was patting the seat next to her and closest to Kurt without sitting on the floor, like Finn was doing. Burt had to smile as he watched Finn resuming his steady consumption of his not-really-cookie cookies.

Blaine shot her a grateful look, taking his seat and casting a vaguely interested glance towards the screen, his own smile returning as he watched Katherine Hepburn and Jimmy Stewart swaying drunkenly to music.

"Kurt and I had a debate about which movie was better – this one, or the musical remake with Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly," Blaine said quietly.

"Kurt probably liked this one better." Carole offered some of her popcorn to Blaine, who took a few kernels.

He leaned back onto the cushions. "Yeah, but he never got around to telling me why."

Carole grinned. "Because Jimmy Stewart was one of his first crushes – he was a goner the first time he saw_ It's a Wonderful Life_, he told me. I think he's on the look-out for a guy who can lasso the moon for him."

Burt gave a muted chuckle as Blaine's eyes crinkled with a hidden smile, shooting his sleeping son an adoring look that Burt had, up until now, only seen on the faces of Kurt's best friends, and Carole on occasion.

Whether it was based on just a simple, platonic liking of his son, or if it was more, he couldn't tell . . . But considering how incredibly freaked out the kid had been on Friday, so much the opposite of this self-possessed boy sitting in his living room right now? Burt was willing to bet his share of the garage that Blaine was feeling more for his son than friendship – even if he didn't fully realize it yet.

_Mercedes had been sitting next to him, silent and no longer shaking. Carole was sitting on his other side, clutching his hand and clenching her jaw periodically. He'd called her less than fifteen minutes before, and she'd shown up, worried out of her mind for her son and Kurt, crying and trying not to at the same time as she wrapped Finn up in her arms, and then, when Burt had choked out what had happened to Kurt, at least what little he knew . . ._

_"Are you serious? That's unacceptable – how in the hell could Figgins let things get this far?" she had hissed. "No, we need to call a lawyer, right now, because there is no way the bastard that did this to Kurt can get away with it! Figgins and the school board need to be held accountable. Those stupid assholes need to –"_

_Burt had never been more in love with the woman than he had been right then. He grabbed her and held her close, breathing in harshly, holding back tears again. Mercedes had interrupted the tender embrace with an abrupt gasp._

_They both jerked apart, looking towards her questioningly. She waved Kurt's phone at them._

_The police had given it to Burt not too long ago. It had been tossed in a garbage can outside the locker room, and apparently they had noted it in their report but weren't going to keep it as evidence. The officer who had handed it to him had been fuzzy on the details; Burt had the feeling the man was bending some rules for him, so he'd smiled gratefully and accepted the iPhone, then promptly handed it to Mercedes for safe-keeping because he knew he'd likely forget it somewhere, his mind scattered as it was._

_"Sorry," the girl apologized, clutching Kurt's cell tightly. "I just turned it on and, um, there's like a billion messages from Blaine, so I'm going to –"_

_"Blaine?" Burt gave her a blank look, "Who's Blaine?"_

_Mercedes lifted a hand to her mouth. "Oh . . . uh, Kurt didn't mention him to you?"_

_Burt shook his head, lifting an eyebrow as Mercedes bit her lip, avoiding his gaze while fiddling with Kurt's phone._

_"Should he have?"_

_Mercedes lifted the phone to her ear, still not meeting his eyes. "He's . . . a new friend of Kurt's from Dalton."_

_"That all-boy place? The one he was 'spying' on?"_

_Mercedes nodded, but just as she opened her mouth to say something more, the faint sound of someone answering on the other end of the line cut her off._

_"No, Blaine – I'm Mercedes." She smiled briefly at the floor in response to whatever the boy said. "Yeah, I'm his best girl. But . . . no. That's not it. Blaine, Kurt." Her voice thickened, and Burt and Carole reached out simultaneously to comfort her. She received the hands on her shoulders with closed eyes. "He's in the hospital. Someone hurt him and – what? What did you – St. Anne's Hospital. But, Blaine –" Mercedes pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the screen. "I think he's actually on his way."_

_Burt felt only faint curiousity at this announcement. That his son hadn't mentioned a friend he'd made barely a week ago didn't really register in his 'Top Five Things to Be Worried About'. It didn't even break his Top Ten. He settled into a chair with Carole right next to him, Mercedes close on his left, and wondered why the hell the doctor was taking so damn long._

_Burt became a little more curious about Blaine when the boy burst into their area not twenty minutes later, disheveled and frantic._

_"Blaine!" Mercedes had jumped up to greet him, and soon Burt wasn't alone in his interest – Finn and Carole were both eying the boy, and the rest of the Glee club was jerking up from naps or day dreams, all eyes on him as Mercedes made her way over._

_He grabbed her upper arms as soon as she was within reach. "Oh God, tell me what happened! Is he okay? Is it bad?"_

_Mercedes was quick to answer. "He's going to be fine. The doctor said they need to wait until he wakes up to know more, but –"_

_"Wakes up?" Blaine sagged, eyes shutting tightly. He dropped his hands from her, lifting them to cover his face. "God, was it Karofsky? Because I need to talk to –"_

_"No, it was a friend of his – well, we don't actually know for sure, but it looks like Azimio was the one who did the beating."_

_Blaine dragged his hands down his cheeks, before letting them fall listlessly to his sides. "I can't believe it. No, that's a lie. I can, I just . . . Kurt –" He opened his eyes, looking about as guilty and distraught as all of Kurt's fellow Glee club members._

_Mercedes snatched one hand in her own. "I know."_

_"He's not . . . no one in the world deserves to be treated like this, but of all . . . I told him to stand up to those douchebags, God." Blaine was shaking his head. "What if that's what happened? He's been taking my advice and getting assaulted and threatened, and I didn't know it was this bad until a few days ago, but I should've said something, made him leave that damn place and –"_

_"Blaine?" Burt stepped forward, holding his hand out. "I'm Burt Hummel, Kurt's father."_

_Blaine's mouth snapped shut, his eyes widening. Mercedes took a step back, but she kept a grip on Blaine's hand. Blaine reached over with his free hand to shake Burt's, his grip loose, then firm, then loose again before letting go._

_"Oh. Mr. Hummel, sir, I, I'm so sorry, about Kurt. Really, I think I can honestly take the blame for –"_

_"Kid, the only thing you should feel responsible for is the huge smile on my son's face when he talks about that fancy school of yours," Burt said with a wry smile. "And for helping him out when he wouldn't even talk to me about what was happening."_

_"I . . . appreciate that, sir, but he wasn't exactly telling me everything either . . . not that I'm blaming him!" He rushed to add, eyes huge in his face. Burt could hear one of the girls giggling somewhere behind him, and a choked off laugh that sounded a bit like Finn. "He's amazing, your son and . . ."_

_"Blaine, relax," Burt said soothingly, taking a few steps away from the other Glee kids and Carole. Mercedes was tugging Blaine along to follow him. "The only person I'm blaming is the bastard who did this."_

_"And you're sure it wasn't Karofsky? I mean, I want to believe the guy is just confused and lashing out, because who wants to believe that there are people who are capable of being such total pricks for no other reason than . . . because they're pricks? To hate someone for something beyond their control? Someone like Kurt, who's so . . ."_

_"Amazing?" Burt was trying very hard to hold back a grin because it felt really inappropriate, but even though his heart was in pieces for the second time in his life, he couldn't help but be amused by this boy._

_Blaine's jaw hung open for a second, then he ran a hand through his hair, wincing as he messed up his gelled curls – his hand came away with a noticeable shine. He wiped it on the jacket he was wearing over his school blazer. "I'm sorry, I'm not usually this . . . incoherent. Or inarticulate. Which I suppose could be the same thing. And I could leave, if you would please just call me when –"_

_"Blaine." Burt shoved him down into a chair a ways from everyone, speaking in a low tone, "You're sticking around as long as you need to and I'm sure Kurt's gonna be real glad you came. But I need to ask you – you're the one who tried to talk to that . . . Karofsky, after what he did to Kurt, right?"_

_Burt didn't elaborate further, and he was presuming that Mercedes knew about the whole . . . kiss thing – Kurt hadn't mentioned if she did, but he figured that after finally telling his father, he would tell his best friend, if she hadn't known already. Mercedes didn't look curious or confused in the slightest, just kept her focus on Blaine, so he took that to mean that she knew exactly what he was talking about._

_Blaine nodded. "I should have made him tell somebody, I assumed . . . I should have realized that things were so much worse than he was telling me. I got the feeling after I met the guy myself. He's big and scared – and angry. But you said it wasn't him who did this?"_

_"No, no it was his friend," Mercedes repeated. "This asshole named Azimio – but Karofsky might've had something to do with it. There's a girl who saw it all, who called the cops and everything. She's in the hospital right now, talking with some officers, so we'll know soon. I kinda wanna talk to her myself, if she'll let me."_

_Blaine let out a long breath. "Right. Okay. I'm going to stay, and maybe come by tomorrow, too?" He looked up with a questioning gaze at Burt, who nodded._

_"Yeah, c'mon by, in the afternoon would be best. I know it's gonna be a Saturday, but I want you to do something for me tomorrow morning. I need you to get me forms – applications to Dalton. Drop them off at my house, I'll make sure that someone's there to let you in, since I'll be here. Kurt's not going back to McKinley."_

_Mercedes gasped. "Mr. Hummel –"_

_"I know, Mercedes, I know. But he isn't safe. I should've done this the first time those jackasses threw him in a dumpster." Blaine flinched at that, surprise flitting across his features. Kurt really hadn't told him too many details, had he? "Now, I know for him to transfer a few months into –"_

_Blaine was shaking his head. "No sir, there's special admission standards for stuff like this, I know there are. I'll figure it out, and get all the info to you. Kurt's brilliant at everything, so there's bound to be some scholarships and the like, since tuition is probably going to be a bit much for you . . . oh, not that – I don't mean to assume . . . That is –"_

_Burt couldn't help it, he had to chuckle, rolling eyes as he tried to calm the boy down. "Blaine, I get what you're saying, and I really appreciate you doing this for me. For Kurt."_

_"Anything, anytime, Mr. Hummel," Blaine said earnestly. His eyes were brightening and he couldn't quite disguise the grin that was overtaking his features. "Kurt's going to fit in so well at Dalton – and it'll afford him so many opportunities, not to mention that he'd be great as a Warbler. I mean, based on that incredible Cheerios' performance at Nationals –"_

_Mercedes raised her eyebrows. "Kurt told you about that? No, wait, I bet you looked it up, right?"_

_"It was on ESPN and Sue Sylvester is a local celebrity – a friend of mine found it on YouTube!" Blaine tried to defend himself. Mercedes coughed out something about 'cheerleading uniforms' and Blaine was turning his head, pressing his lips together hard as a pink flush covered his cheeks._

_Burt felt his protective father instincts creeping up, but he couldn't help but like this kid – he had been scared that it would be some older, college guy Kurt would drag home as his first boyfriend, or a too-smooth jock, or any other number of guys who seemed the type to take advantage . . . but this guy seemed to be the real deal. Seemed to like his son for who he was and probably didn't even get that he was developing a crush._

"Mr. Hummel?"

Burt blinked, staring at the DVD menu screen, and then turning to face Blaine. Carole was up and heading toward the kitchen with her empty bowl, Mercedes' half-finished tea and Finn's empty plate. Mercedes was dozing lightly and Kurt remained completely passed out. Finn had stood up, stretching, as his cell phone rang with a phone call from Rachel – he excused himself, taking the call in his own room as Rachel demanded in a clear, loud voice an update on Kurt's condition.

Blaine was flicking his gaze back and forth between Burt and Kurt. "I want to thank you for inviting me to your home, even though you don't really know me beyond what Mercedes has told you."

Burt waved off the gratitude. "I trust that girl more than I do most people – if she says you're good people, then I believe it. You gonna hang around for a while longer?"

"If you don't mind – but I can't stay too late, it's a school night and my parents let me have the car with the stipulation that I be back by nine, the latest, so . . . I was hoping that he'd wake up . . . but I don't want to disturb him. I'll probably be coming back throughout the week, if that's all right with you?"

Burt nodded. "Come on by as often as you want, Kurt could really use the cheering up. He's going to be at home for a week, doc's orders. And I still need to straighten out his admission to Dalton – he'll need people around to keep him from going stir crazy. Few years back, when he had the chicken pox, he actually managed to rearrange all the furniture in the house and bedazzle half my clothes out of boredom."

Blaine covered his mouth to smother a loud snort of laughter. He shot a quick, worried look towards Kurt, but the boy didn't even stir.

Burt knew that this exhaustion was normal, and his pain meds made him sleepy on top of that, but it had been almost six hours since he'd heard his son's voice. As if reading his mind, Kurt turned in his sleep, eyes fluttering, then opening, slowly blinking. "Dad?" It was little more than a croak, but it was enough to soothe some of Burt's concern.

"Yeah, kiddo? You still tired? You can keep sleeping if you want to."

"Thought . . . what time is it?" Kurt ran his tongue over his teeth, grimacing. "Ugh, I feel gross."

"It's almost three," Blaine said, causing Kurt to jerk, titling his head in an upside-down way to see over the arm of the couch. His hair was practically standing on end in some places, and matted down in others. He seemed to realize this after another minute, a hand jumping up to comb through the brown locks. "Blaine!" He sounded nearly distraught, though there was an edge of surprised happiness to his voice.

"I told you I would come by today." Blaine smiled widely, taking in Kurt's sleep ruffled appearance with a subtly roving gaze. Burt chose to ignore that. "Mercedes called me when you got home – she told me you were in and out of sleep so I decided to wait before driving over. How are you doing?"

Kurt swallowed hard, rubbing at his eyes as he sat up, carefully lifting his feet off his sleeping best friend. "I . . . I'm okay. Just ridiculously drowsy thanks to the painkillers. And clearly unmoisturized, unshowered, and a general slovenly disaster to behold."

"No one wakes up at their best," Blaine said cheerily. "And your worst bed-head is nowhere near mine! You should see this" – he pointed at his heavily styled hair – "first thing in the morning. It's like some kind of monster from a B horror movie. Bet I beat you in time spent in front of mirrors."

Burt snorted. "I'd like to take that bet. There's a reason why the kid has his own bathroom."

Kurt glared at his father, with all the power of a fluffed up and irritated kitten. Burt sat up straight in his armchair, crossing his arms. "Am I lying? What time do you get up every morning, kiddo, just to mess with your hair? C'mon, let's hear it."

Kurt turned a deaf ear to him and focused on his new friend, a little less self-conscious in the face of Blaine's self-deprecating humour. "When did you get here?"

"About an hour ago. Watched the last bit of _A Philadelphia Story_. Carole told me all about your love of Jimmy Stewart."

Kurt groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Less than an hour and already the embarrassing stories come out." He peeked between his fingers at Burt. "If you brought out the albums from my kindergarten years, I'll have to disown you, father."

"Haven't had the time, but now that you mention it . . ."

Kurt whined high in his throat. "I should've stayed asleep." He slumped down, accidentally jostling Mercedes, who also took her time in waking up.

She shifted towards Kurt, opening her eyes and reaching out to pat his hair, and Burt thought it was way too funny that the first words out of her mouth were: "You wanna head down to your bathroom, honey?" She yawned, stretching out the kinks in her back and legs. "We'll get you all prettied up before your hair attacks me."

Blaine laughed out loud at Kurt's indignant expression. "Your best friend is way more awesome than mine. Oh, that reminds me." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small envelope. "Wes and David told me to give this to you."

Kurt blinked. "What?"

"Wes? David? They were –"

"I remember who they are," Kurt interrupted, licking his dry lips. "I just . . . for me?"

Blaine handed him the envelope. "Well, yeah, Kurt. I told them yesterday what happened – they were the ones who helped get all the admission and scholarship information for your dad. David's dad is pretty tight with a lot of Dalton alumni and administrators. I haven't read what they wrote though, they made me promise not to."

Kurt was opening the envelope, pulling out a plain, dark blue card that had 'Thinking of You' written across the front in simple gold lettering. He opened it and read for a moment before a small smile tugged at his lips. He handed the card over to Mercedes, who had been nudging him to get a look at it. She giggled when she read it, and then she was passing it over to Burt. Blaine was eying their expressions and the card somewhat apprehensively. Burt took it, seeing the two different sets of handwriting:

_Kurt,_

_**Blaine has essentially told us your life's story, or at least what he knows about you based on your own tales, and what Google had to offer (which was a rather astounding fourteen minutes of French-singing and cartwheels) so we feel like we've gotten to know you vicariously through him.**_

_Which is why we're worried about you, angry about what happened, and completely on board with you transferring over here. We promise that you're going to love our school and we'll make damn sure you join the Warblers, because you've got talent (despite your lackluster spy skills)._

_**Welcome to Dalton, future Warbler-Kurt,**_

_**Wes**__ and David_

_P.S. Blaine isn't some kind of freaky stalker. He Googles everyone – it's one of his go-to boredom cures. However, I think that cheerleading video went from fifty thousand to a hundred thousand views from the number of times he watched it._

_**Please, don't show him this card - he'll get incredibly annoyed and that may compromise his rehearsals for Sectionals.**_

Burt was feeling even more comfortable with his decision to send his son to this school; Kurt already had a group of friends he could hang out with, and they seemed to be just as . . . interesting as his Glee club, though he knew Kurt was, and would likely remain, ripped up about missing his McKinley friends, particularly Mercedes. He put the card on the coffee table, watching the three teenagers interact. Kurt was laughing at something Blaine was saying, and Mercedes was jumping into the conversation, winking at Kurt when Blaine was focused elsewhere, causing Kurt to either roll his eyes or pointedly not look at her.

The doorbell rang again, and this time Burt was the one to volunteer to get it. He didn't want to interrupt Kurt's time with his friends; this was the first time in forty-eight hours he'd seen his son smile without it seeming forced or a cover for something else.

He opened the door, and there was the girl – Eva? Ana? – the one who'd saved his son's life. She was leaning heavily on a pair of crutches, and chewing on her lower lip nervously.

"Hi, Mr. Hummel," she said in that same quiet tone she'd used in the hospital. "Um, Mrs. Hudson said I could come for dinner, and you said I was welcome any time . . . so I decided to come a little early, if that's okay?"

He ushered her inside, keeping a hand hovering in mid-air in case she needed help. She was a bit awkward with her hurt ankle, but she managed to get in without much stumbling. He shut the door behind her. "You can come on by anytime . . . sorry, I can't remember your name, it's something like Eva, right? I feel real bad for not knowing."

"Ida," she corrected with a tentative smile. "And I only mentioned it once, and you were so worried about Kurt . . . it's fine."

Burt nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You doin' okay, Ida?"

She tilted her head, neither nodding or shaking it. "I, I guess. It's . . . a hard thing to get over. I don't think . . ." She shook her head then, taking a moment to gather herself. "Never mind. How's Kurt?"

He jerked his head towards the living room, where there was laughter and muted conversation still going on. "Why don't you go take a look for yourself?"

Ida's eyes widened fractionally, but Burt saw it. She resumed chewing on her lip and flicked one of her dark red braids over her shoulder. He took one hand out of his pockets, putting it on her elbow. "Hey, you don't need to be scared or nothing. Kurt's so grateful to you. You were one of the first things he asked about when he woke up yesterday."

The girl actually gave him a real, honest smile at that, even if it was tinged with disbelief.

Even so, she kept right on hesitating, fumbling a bit with her crutches. Burt used the hand on her elbow to lightly guide her, slowly but surely. He didn't understand why she was so nervous, but he got that she, like Kurt, had some things to deal with. Witnessing something like that – if the situation had been reversed, and Kurt had been the one to walk in on something that horrible . . . Well, if he could have reversed it, he would have, he wasn't ashamed to admit, but on the whole, he would rather the whole damn thing had never happened, because it was nightmarish either way.

"Your mom drop you off? She could've come in if she wanted to."

"Thank you, but she's barely let me breathe since I got back from the hospital. I wanted to do this myself."

Burt let her pause upon seeing Kurt, sitting happily next to Mercedes, now sharing teasing looks with Blaine as Finn, having returned from his chat with his girlfriend, told them some wild story with huge gestures and silly faces while sitting on the coffee table.

Ida stood there, taking it in with a wistful expression, and Burt had no clue what the hold up was, but he was willing to wait.

She'd been the same when he'd spoken to her at the hospital the night before last: quiet and unassuming. He'd been surprisingly patient then too, all things considered.

_"Mr. Hummel!" One of the officers cut him off on the way to see his son. The doctor said they were wrapping up a couple of final tests, and Kurt would be all his. Just another five or ten minutes._

_"Yes, Officer Henderson?" He was the same cop that had allowed Burt to have Kurt's phone despite the fact that he suspected it wasn't something the officer was supposed to have done. With that in mind, Burt let the other man waylay him. "You got some news for me?"_

_"Well, sir, we've taken the witness' statement, and are going to take in a suspect for questioning – we just wanted you to know that we're giving this our all, and the person or persons who did this to your son, they are not going to get away with it."_

_Burt gave the man a look, not sure why he was going out of his way to be this open and honest with him. "Why are you telling me this?"_

_Officer Henderson, a tall black man who looked like he could put down even that Puckerman kid, smiled. "Because I'm a father. And if somebody pulled this kind of crap on me – did something like this to my boy? I would iron them out, no question, law be damned. I figure if I don't give my word, let you know what's going on, you're going to try and find out yourself. Maybe get yourself into some trouble. So here's me letting you know what's what."_

_Burt leaned back on his heels, crossing his arms. He wasn't going to lie and say that his initial response, after blind panic, hadn't been violent – that he hadn't wanted to take whoever did this to Kurt down for a drive to a secluded wooded area and give them a taste of their own pain. And he wasn't going to lie and say that he trusted these men to do their jobs. The words 'hate crime' hadn't come up, and he wasn't expecting them to._

_But he acknowledged the fact that these cops seemed to know what they were doing and this guy seemed genuine. Henderson had taken the time to question him briefly, confirming that Kurt was being bullied, and that the name the girl had mentioned was, in fact, one of Kurt's worse tormentors (Burt had made sure to mention Karofsky as the other, and went so far as to say that they should arrest him as well). The issue of his son's orientation was mentioned only in passing. Burt didn't know what to make of it, but the fact that these officers were taking this so seriously, and clearly did a good job at keeping the chaos at McKinley from turning into a blood bath, meant that there might be some justice for Kurt in the end. Officer Henderson seemed particularly invested in making sure of that._

_"We'll be stopping by sometime tomorrow, to question that Karofsky boy – he's being released in the morning. If your boy's awake by then, we're going to have to take his statement too." He sounded apologetic about it. Burt nodded, trying to swallow around a suddenly dry mouth. That was something he both wanted – to hear exactly what had happened – and dreaded, because he truly wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle hearing it all from his son's own lips. "Now, the girl wanted to speak with you," Henderson said. "She's in there with her mother right now, and asked if you could come in to see her."_

_Burt cast a glance to Kurt's room, and seeing no doctor leaving it, or on the approach, he followed Henderson to another room down at the other end of the hall._

_When he walked through the door, Henderson gave him a quick nod as he turned away, leaving to arrest the person that had put his son in this hospital._

_"You're Burt Hummel, right?" A tall, willowy woman with hair a shade darker than her daughter's stood up and reached out a hand. "I'm Mona Callaghan, and I can't tell you how sorry I am, about your son."_

_Burt shook her hand. "I'm sorry your daughter had to go through that, but I'm so damn thankful she was there."_

_Mona turned to her daughter, who was sitting up in the bed, watching Burt and wrapping her arms around herself. "So, do you want me to stay, baby?"_

_She shook her head. "No, mom, it's okay. I kinda wanted to talk to Mr. Hummel alone."_

_Her mom nodded as if she expected that and, with a small smile for Burt, she stepped out of the room. Burt stood there, shoving his hands in his pockets, watching this girl. She wasn't small, like Rachel – in fact, she looked like she was maybe only a couple inches shorter than Kurt, who was getting up there in height. It was hard to tell with her half lying down. She had her hair in two messy braids, and her lips were cracked and bleeding in some spots, like she'd been chewing on them constantly._

_"I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel, sir," she began, her voice raspy. "I wanted to . . . I wanted to talk to you, but I didn't actually think about what I was going to say."_

_He glanced towards the chair Mona Callaghan had been sitting in, and sat down himself, trying to appear less imposing. "Well, if you ain't too sure where to start, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"_

_She shook her head._

_"What's your name?"_

_"Ida," she murmured, not quite meeting his eyes._

_"Okay, Ida, I . . . I figure this might be a bit awkward for you and all, but . . . could you tell me some of what you told the cops?" Her eyes widened and he hurried on. "You don't have to tell me if it's –"_

_"It's not . . ." She breathed out, one knee coming up, then wincing when she tried to pull her other leg close to her chest. She rubbed at her calf, just above a seriously swollen ankle. Burt stared for a minute. "Geez, did that sonuvabitch do that to you?"_

_"Sort of – he, he was going to hurt me, and when he jumped I think I twisted it, landed on it wrong."_

_Burt felt his face twist into an expression of disgust. "Fucking coward – sorry – only true jackasses attack women."_

_Some of the tension left her body at those words. She smiled, fleetingly, but it was there. "That's exactly what Kurt said just before Azimio tried to hurt me."_

_Burt leaned forward. "I'm going to have to take credit for that. Kurt was a pushy thing when he was little and . . ." He had to pause, his voice giving out as he forced down some tears, but he continued on, watching her relax as he spoke. "And, uh, he used to push his little cousin down whenever she got into his things, which was every single time she was over. I gave him the '_guys don't hit girls, and if they do, they're pathetic_' lecture more than once. Then he started being sneakier about it. I think one time he told her that boy cooties were real and that you could get sick and die from them. She never came near him or his stuff after that."_

_Ida snorted, covering her mouth with one hand. "Sorry, it's just . . . he's always been . . . the way he is, then?"_

_Burt knew she wasn't talking about the fact that Kurt was gay. "Yeah, he's pretty much always been like he is now – except his vocabulary is loads more impressive and he doesn't pitch fits. He just reasons me to death with lectures and debates, and then he'll do this pouty thing with his lips and his eyes . . . kid usually gets what he wants, when it isn't too out there." _Like admission into Dalton_, he thought to himself. Kurt hadn't asked for that, and he never would have, considering how expensive the place was, but Burt was sending him there if he had to sell his garage to do it – no way Kurt was setting foot in McKinley ever again._

_"That's neat." Ida played with her covers, adjusting her foot and pulling up on the blankets as a random bout of shivers overtook her. She huddled within her cocoon of cotton, and appeared to be lost in thought._

_Burt waited until she lifted her head again to look at him before asking, "Do you think you could tell me about what happened?"_

_She took in a deep breath, exhaled, and then began to speak in a low, whispery tone, "It was mostly a fluke, Mr. Hummel. I heard Azimio taking about his plan, and just . . . sort of figured out where and when, though the 'what, how' was a bit fuzzy. I didn't really think it through when I was walking into that locker room – and I should've run, or called for help or something as soon as I . . . as soon as I saw Kurt, on the floor, all wet and bleeding and hurt." She gasped out the last part, eyes shutting tightly, shuddering._

_There was bile pushing at the back of Burt's throat and he had to breathe in and out deliberately, several times. "Oh . . . okay."_

_"I don't know what happened before I got there, but Kurt was soaking wet, and bruised up all over, and . . ." She paused, her eyes fluttering open and watching him. "Mr. Hummel, are you sure you want to hear this?"_

_He was making two fists, staring down at them, trying to keep his calm. To keep from following those cops, or tracking down Karofsky who was somewhere in this hospital right now._

_"Karofsky, when did he come into this?" he asked calmly._

_"He . . . it was after Azimio tried to attack me – Karofsky showed up, pulled him off me. He got Azimio to leave, and then he . . ." She tilted her head, expression confused. "It was weird. He hung around, and just . . . looked at us. Looked at Kurt. I get the feeling there was something there I was missing."_

_Burt nodded, because he knew what this 'missing' something was. It set his teeth on edge, but it seemed like Karofsky hadn't been out to hurt or . . . touch . . . his boy._

_He listened as she explained how the jock had actually given her a phone to call the cops with, to rat out his friend, and Burt didn't really know what to make of that. Maybe Kurt had been right not to out the kid, but at the moment, all Burt could think of was his son, bleeding and shivering on a cold locker room floor, thanks to Karofsky's best buddy. His dull fingernails dug into the palms of his hands and he ground his teeth as he imagined all too clearly the pain and fear on his boy's features. Kurt was a strong kid but (it broke something inside him to admit this, even just in his thoughts) he wasn't sure if this was something that Kurt could just pack away and move on from. In fact, he knew that that couldn't be the case. Kurt was going to be hurting long after the bruises and cuts faded away._

_He tuned back into Ida's voice for the end of her story, trying to force the horrifying images and dark thoughts to the back of his mind – he didn't quite succeed, but he managed to focus on the girl again._

_"Karofsky asked me to not mention that he'd been there, but there was no way I was letting either him or Azimio get away with that. No way." Her eyes flashed and she sat upright. "I watch them get away with it every day at school, and this time it was too much."_

_She deflated after that, her cheeks flushed, but she managed to keep eye contact with him, and her voice, which had risen above a whisper into something strong and clear, didn't fade back._

_"I think Kurt's so amazing, Mr. Hummel, to survive that. He kept me going, even though I hadn't tried to . . . "_

_He reached out as she started withdrawing, falling back into herself, and grabbed a small hand in his. She was cold, and he remembered what the doctor had said about hypothermia, and tried to rub some warmth back into her fingers. "You are amazing. You did something that Kurt's teachers and principal refused to do. You stood up for him, and I can't . . ." He knew he was crying, but he couldn't help it this time – not with the image of Kurt, cold, wet, and alone, getting kicked and punched, laying on a damp floor, probably wondering if he was going to live to see another day. Burt wondered if Kurt had cried out for him, crying for his father to come running in to save him._

_"I can't thank you enough," he said after clearing his throat twice. "You saved him. And in saving him, you saved me. You're something else. Thank you, so much."_

"Hey, Ida!" Finn stood up and walked over to them with a wide, inviting smile.

"F-Finn," she stuttered out. "Hi."

"My mom said you were coming by for dinner, but I totally forgot about it 'til just now." He was grabbing at her crutches, handing them to Burt, and helping her hop over to the couch. Blaine, Mercedes and Kurt had gone quiet, looking over at them. While Blaine didn't seem to know her (though Burt couldn't recall her meeting Finn either) Mercedes gave her a sweet smile.

"Hey Ida, it's nice to see you again." Burt could vaguely remember Mercedes coming into Ida's room after him, but the doctor had been leading him to Kurt's side, and all his senses had pretty much been focused on that.

"Um, hi," she said again. Her eyes were trained on Mercedes, as if she was afraid of the boy sitting next to her.

Kurt was staring, his smile gone. His eyes glazed over and, for a minute, Burt was worried he was going to have a panic attack. Kurt looked like he was forcing himself to keep breathing evenly; Mercedes reached over with one hand, wrapping her fingers around his. "Kurt? Hey, pretty boy, you with us?"

Blaine was leaning in closer, his own hand hovering over Kurt's knee, then being pulled back to his lap. Finn was kept holding Ida up with one arm, looking unsure as to what was happening.

But Kurt came back to them soon enough, blinking once, and then giving Ida a quick up and down sweep. "You hurt your ankle?" He sounded dazed.

Ida nodded, glancing down at her foot and then seemingly forcing herself to make eye contact. "Yeah. Just when . . . when he tackled me."

Kurt nodded. "But it's not too bad, right?"

"No. And you? You . . . you seem okay?"

He huffed a bit at that, squeezing Mercedes' hand. "I . . . suppose that's one way to put it. I'm okay, I'm alive, thanks to you."

Ida shook her head, and Finn finally managed to get her to sit down, Blaine moving over so she could sit near Kurt. "Don't thank me. What else could I do, in that situation?"

"What everybody else was doing, of course," Kurt said with a sarcastic, bitter smile. "Look away, ignore it. Pretend it wasn't happening. Or just not care."

Mercedes winced, looking guiltily down at her lap, and Finn was studying his feet with great concentration. Burt couldn't help but feel stung a little as well – as Kurt's father, he should've done something as soon as he knew how hard a time Kurt was having at school.

Ida shook her head. "I was – I mean, I knew what you were going through. I watched it happen every day, and just because I managed to help you once –"

"When it most counted," Kurt pointed out. "And it's not like I've made any complaints to the staff . . . or stood up for the other kids that were being bullied –"

"Lies," Mercedes interrupted. "You stood up for Tina!"

"And you took a slushie in the face for me!" Finn joined in. "I know that wasn't exactly the same thing, but it mattered, dude!"

Kurt waved off their exclamations. "So, don't be too hard on yourself for that. Now, moving on – have you been at McKinley long?"

"No, just about a month," she said timidly. "But I, I haven't really made any friends. I like my solitude, I suppose, or at least I did, until I . . . heard about you." She blushed here, dropping her gaze. "You sort of . . . I always wanted to talk to you but . . ." Ida shrugged, laughing to herself. "Sorry, I'm such an inarticulate bumble." Her hesitance made sense to Burt now, and he couldn't help liking this girl for it. Mercedes was grinning at her, and Finn was shaking his head, smiling at her shyness.

Kurt arched an eyebrow, tossing his bangs off his forehead. "Well, allow me to formally introduce myself." He raised his hand up. "My name is Kurt Hummel, and you, my lovely lady?"

"Ida, Ida Callaghan." Burt watched as she lifted her own hand, trembling, placing it in his so softly and gently it looked like they were hardly touching.

Kurt gripped her firmly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ida, and may I say, nicely done – you know, saving my life and all."

There were tears sparkling in her eyes but she smiled widely. "It was my pleasure, Kurt Hummel – if only so you could live to give me fashion advice and take me for drives in your pimped out ride."

Everyone, including Burt, burst out into laughter, giggles or chuckles.

Carole wandered back into the living room, holding a fresh bowl of popcorn. "Okay, gang, I say we order pizza, and start that movie again from the beginning, since I have to confess to really not paying attention – and I know I wasn't the only one."

There was enthusiastic agreement to this, as well as various shouts for toppings and Kurt's complaint that Burt shouldn't be having pizza, unless it was a special, cheeseless kind that had basically no resemblance to actual pizza. Burt groaned as he saw Carole nodding in agreement, but he accepted it since both she and Kurt were glaring at him, scolding him with their gazes.

They eventually settled in to actually watch the movie. At some point, after the pizza arrived, the seating arrangements changed so that it was Carole and Ida on the loveseat, and Blaine, Kurt, Mercedes and Finn all squashed onto the couch. Burt didn't know whether that happened as a result of some fancy and deliberate maneuvering on Carole and Mercedes' part, since they kept shooting each other significant looks around Blaine and Kurt, or if it was Blaine who had done it. The Dalton boy kept darting glances at Kurt, particularly when Jimmy Stewart was on screen.

Either way, the evening passed by quickly, and there was some muted teasing and conversation throughout the movie – Ida seemed to have used up her word quota for the day, but she smiled a lot more easily and seemed way more comfortable over all.

When Ida received a call from her mother as everyone (except Burt) indulged in some ice cream, letting her know that she was waiting outside for her, Blaine took that as his own signal to depart. He offered Mercedes a ride home so she wouldn't have to call her parents to come get her, and the three teens left within a couple minutes of each other.

It came as a surprise to Burt when Carole and Finn said they were going to head out. A part of him had just taken for granted that they'd be staying . . . but they didn't live there anymore, hadn't for a while, though it was so easy to imagine them all as a family, under the same roof.

"I'll be by as often as you need me," Carole said softly at the door, as she waited for Finn to finish saying his goodbyes to Kurt. "And Finn will be by too. He really feels horrible about all this, like it was all his doing."

"I know – so do I, so does everyone," Burt said tiredly, rubbing at his bleary eyes. "Honestly, I think we all do share a little blame." It was his hundredth time thinking it and it didn't get any less painful with repetition.

Carole nodded. "Please, just . . . take care of him, but don't forget to take care of yourself too, okay?"

Burt raised his eyebrows. "You think Kurt's gonna let anything slide with me? Did you see the way he ninja'd that bowl of ice cream away from me? Those pain meds must be better than I thought."

Carole jabbed a finger into his chest. "Good. Now, you be good until I see you next time."

"And then can I be bad?" he asked with waggling eyebrows.

"Ugh, gross! We can hear you, you know!" Finn called from the living room.

"I feel a gag coming on!" Kurt added.

Both he and Carole rolled their eyes, and Burt gave Finn a goodbye hug and a teasing slap on the back of the head for interrupting his and Carole's moment.

When they were gone, he walked back to the living room, sitting on the couch next to Kurt. Kurt automatically curled into him, and Burt tugged him close with one arm, pulling another blanket over him as he felt a slight shiver overtake his son's frame. Silence reigned for a good, long while, before he asked quietly, "You ready for bed, kiddo? I'll help you down the stairs if you want."

"No . . . no, I think I'll just stay here, on the couch – those stairs seem like more trouble than they're worth," Kurt said just as quietly. His arms tightened around Burt's chest and he got the feeling that Kurt didn't want him to leave.

"I'm just going to watch some sport's highlights, if that's cool with you."

Kurt nodded into his chest. "Might help me sleep."

Burt ruffled his hair, knowing full well how much that annoyed his son. "You do that."

Kurt did not utter a single word of complaint, he simply tugged his two blankets up higher on his shoulders. Burt flicked the TV on, channel surfing until he found what he was looking for, listening to the excited rambling of the sport's newscaster, but not really hearing the words.

He tried to tell himself that things were fine now – that Kurt was safe, and home, and everything would slowly go back to normal. But Kurt was bruised, hurting, and afraid. Burt felt his heart jump whenever he even fleetingly thought about that first phone call, about the initial panic that had really felt like another heart attack, something he would _never_ say out loud. His stomach churned viciously whenever he saw, clearly in his mind's eye, his son, pale and still on that hospital bed, covered in blankets and monitored by beeping machines.

But it would get better. It had to. Kurt was _safe,_ right here, right now. He was in his father's arms, he was in his home, and Burt would never let anything touch him here. He was going to send him to Dalton, which would be a hell of a lot better than McKinley. He was going to protect his son in the ways he had been failing in up until now.

And even as he was stumbling down the hallway at three in the morning, falling to his knees on the floor next to Kurt, soothing away nightmares as he pushed his son's hair off his sweaty forehead, he kept up the endless litany – _Kurt's safe now, you're safe now, Kurt, it's okay, please, it's okay_. And eventually Kurt's cries ceased, fading into soft whimpers.

He rubbed warmth into his son's trembling limbs, waiting until Kurt was sleeping peacefully again before lifting himself up on creaking legs and falling back into his favourite armchair.

He grabbed a blanket and settled himself as comfortably as he could, keeping wide, watchful eyes on Kurt. Watching him dream. Watching him breathe.

_Kurt's safe now. It's over. Please, let it be over._

Burt fell asleep to the image of Kurt curled up on the couch and well within his reach.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Holy crap, this chapter is _long. _This totally took on a life of its own, and my editing was utter fail this time around. *holds head in hands*

That being said, I have scary assignments/exams coming up in school, so this will be the last you hear for me for at least two weeks as I try to get through end-of-term craziness. I want to try to have this story done before the holidays, but it all depends on work and the like . . . and how much I indulge in procrastination . . . which I really, really shouldn't . . .

And **spoiler alert for 'Special Education': **Dalton Academy made me sad. It totally defies my head-canon, which I believe was the head-canon of almost everyone – general awesomeness, wacky antics, and a happy-Hogwarts feel . . .*pouts* But I guess it can't be a total utopia – Kurt can't stay there forever, at least I don't think so, and he's going to transfer back to McKinley at some point . . . and drag Blaine with him, please! *crosses fingers*

So sorry for the long wait for this chapter, for the long _everything _about this chapter actually, and once again, your incredible comments defy all universal laws of cool. As do all the favourites/alerts you've given me not just for this, but for my other stories as well - again, I'm stuck with plain words like 'thank you', but they really don't suffice!

Seriously, you guys are a Burt-level of amazingness, something that I'm sure you all appreciate as EPIC levels of awesomeness.

And on a random note, a big thank you to **vcg73 **who gave some great insight into what would be the appropriate response to the level of bullying Kurt was facing, which McKinley and its staff were clearing failing to take action on.


	8. No Tomorrow

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_No Tomorrow_

OOOOOOOOOOOO

The thing was, after all that had happened, Mercedes expected to walk into McKinley and see . . . Well, she didn't know what, exactly, but _something_ that stood out, that marked _change_: uniformed police officers, waves of concerned parents, or an armed guard standing watch with metal detectors and dogs. She thought some kind of huge, tangible difference would be waiting for her. But on Monday morning, she lifted her eyes to her school, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder and stared – because everything looked exactly as it had been the week before.

And it shouldn't.

Her best friend had almost . . . in _that_ building. How could it look the same? How could anything ever be the same?

"Do you think there's going to be an announcement or something?" Tina asked, appearing next to her.

Mercedes turned, seeing the Goth staring at the school too, looking just as confused and dazed as Mercedes felt.

"Yeah, or something," Mercedes murmured, unable to believe that everything looked completely unchanged, even though she felt like a different person. She rubbed at her bruised knuckles self-consciously.

"Are you guys nervous about walking in there? Because, personally, I feel like there may be a hefty dose of retaliation just beyond those doors."

Artie had wheeled up on Mercedes' other side, followed by Puck and Brittany. Without any words said, the rest of the Glee club (less Finn, Kurt and Rachel), congregated around her, and they all looked at the school, at the student's milling about it like _normal,_ as if it was going to explode at any second, or shoot off into space.

"Well, I ain't scared of those assholes." Puck rolled his shoulders, scowling defiantly at them all. Mercedes watched as he clenched and unclenched his fists. "We've already taught them a lesson. We'll just teach it to them again if we have to. And again." He nudged Artie in the upper arm, "Personally, I think we could take 'em." Artie smiled up at Puck, but he looked nervous, pushing his new glasses further up his nose with a shaky hand, the bruise on his forehead peeking out from beneath his bangs.

"I'm not going to make out with any of them for, like, a whole week," Brittany added solemnly. "Maybe even a whole month – Kurt's the best, and nobody should have hurt him like that. It's . . . wrong. Like restaurants that don't give you free breadsticks. They're, like, _evil_."

Santana reached over and gave Brittany's hand a reassuring squeeze, letting go quickly but sticking close to the blonde.

Mercedes narrowed her eyes, turning back to face the double doors that lead into William McKinley High School. She tapped into that rage she felt when she first saw Kurt on that stretcher, looking almost dead, blue-lipped and bright red blood coating his head. Her head jerked up, her hands following Puck's example as they clenched into fists, pulling on her bruises. It was a comforting sort of pain. "Damn straight – I will lay them all out if they try anything. Let's go."

They set forth as a group, ignoring any stares, silencing whispers with some serious cut-eye, courtesy of Santana and Quinn. The blonde-headed cheerleader made her way to Mercedes' side, grabbing a hand in hers. "Is there a plan for if we do get in there and there's nastiness waiting?"

"Yeah. You and I team up on the first letterman jacket we see. By the way, it was cool, you helping me out with Morris and Santerelli."

Quinn flashed a quick and malicious smile, her cut lip mostly healed. "They never saw it coming, did they?"

Mercedes couldn't help but grin back. She remembered this Quinn, the one who had lived with her for a couple of months, who'd watched chick flicks, and helped her do the dishes and the laundry while singing to their iPods on shuffle, laughing when embarrassing songs came up (Quinn had a hidden stash of old boy bands going back to New Kids on the Block, and Mercedes had her own secret playlist of kids' music from Barney and other preschool shows, so it all evened out in the end). Quinn seemed to get what Mercedes was feeling, because her smile shrunk down to something wistful. "You know, I haven't been avoiding you because I'm back to being . . . this" – she gestured down at her Cheerio's uniform – "or because of Sam . . . I just . . . I don't know."

"Don't worry about it," Mercedes dismissed. "Things get away from us sometimes, I mean, I – I wasn't exactly talking with Kurt a whole lot either, until just last week, and he's been my friend longer than I've known you so . . ." She blinked back unexpected tears. Why did even just thinking about her boy make her want to cry?

Quinn tangled their fingers, her own eyes suspiciously bright. "You're one of the best friends I've ever had, Mercedes, and I'm not just saying that because you ironed out Franco with one knee to the groin. Which was awesome and more than a little frightening."

Mercedes snorted. "Please, you could've broken Morris' jaw with that freaky-ass high kick."

"I know," was all Quinn said, bracing herself as they finally pushed through the doors.

And, well, Mercedes had wanted different, hadn't she?

Huddles of students were speaking in much lower tones than usual, pressed in close to the walls, all wide-eyed and gossiping a mile a minute, everything tense and uncertain – and then it all stopped.

The stares felt like a raw and heavy weight pressing in all around her; more eyes were zeroing in on Mercedes than the others – it was no secret that she was Kurt's best friend. Most of these students had been there, watching her freak out and accusing any and all of them of beating Kurt. She'd been screaming, crying and then lashing out as Finn brought Karofsky down, kicking off the almost-riot.

Quinn squeezed her hand once, and Santana stepped in front of them both, crossing her arms and walking to her locker in an aggressive march, her ponytail bobbing fiercely. The crowds parted for her without a sound. She whipped around in their midst, staring back at the Glee club. "Let's get going – I've got things to do."

No one questioned what these 'things' might be – they all just marched after her, through the pathway she had created. Sam appeared on Quinn's other side, and he shot Mercedes a look over the blonde head of his girlfriend – a grim smile and nod. They were in this together. She straightened up out of the shrinking she hadn't even realized she'd been doing, and stared ahead towards Santana, ignoring everyone who wasn't a fellow Glee club member.

"H–how's Kurt doing?" It was soft, hesitant, and echoed in the near silent hallway.

They all froze, looking towards a small girl with frizzy hair and braces, who was now wincing as Mercedes narrowed her eyes at her. "Do I know you?"

"No." The girl shifted uncomfortably. "But Quinn, last week, the day that . . . Quinn saved me from a slushie facial." Quinn nodded, confirming this, though her own scrutinizing stare didn't lessen in intensity. "And I just . . . wanted to know if your friend was okay?"

Somehow, Mercedes had turned into the Glee club's spokesperson in Rachel's absence (for reasons that had yet to be explained to her, Rachel mysteriously disappeared after the epic McKinley Battle – but Finn promised them all she had good reason), and no one else seemed willing to take the position from her, so she addressed the girl. "He's . . . he's going to be okay."

There was a ripple amongst the students crowding them – Mercedes didn't want to share details in front of these strangers, but she managed a half-hearted smile for the girl. "What's your name?"

"Kelly. And I don't know Kurt personally, but . . . I'm sorry that it happened."

Someone behind Kelly, a lanky boy wearing a big grey hoodie, nodded in agreement with her, and suddenly Mercedes didn't know what to feel – maybe she should be nice, considering that these people were interested in the welfare of her closest friend. Maybe she should be kind because they were being sympathetic. However, another meaner, resentful side of her was wondering where the hell was this sympathy before? She shook her head, dispelling any bitter sniping that might rise to the surface of her thoughts, because she hadn't been much better (_God_, she, his _best friend_, hadn't done _anything_, and she had to smother the guilt down viciously because it was like bile at the back of her throat). Not only that, but nearly every one here had been slushied at some point or another – made to feel afraid by a flash of red amongst the crowds.

She nodded back at the boy, mumbled a quiet 'thanks' to Kelly, and kept on her way, the rest of her friends falling in behind her.

They took only two or three more steps before the next face emerged from the quiet multitude lining the walls – and this one had Puck, Sam, Mike and Artie springing up beside and in front of Mercedes, like they had practiced regularly at being bodyguards.

Langenthal, the former kicker of the football team (Beiste had moved him to some defensive position, something Finn had informed them all of since apparently the boy was insanely good at it), had stepped away from a group of those red letterman jackets. He stood in front of them, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and staring at Mercedes – or what he could see of her from between Sam and Puck's shoulders.

Mercedes couldn't remember if he had been there when the fighting broke out, but she couldn't see any visible marks on him, so maybe he hadn't been. He didn't look threatening. In fact, he was sort of hunching in on himself, and shifting on his feet a lot.

"I . . . I don't think this means anything, or whatever, but . . . I'm sorry too, and I hope Azimio gets locked up for what he did. Hummel never hurt anyone, and . . ." He shrugged. "I don't know . . . I just know it wasn't right, what happened."

Mercedes had no clue what to say to that, but Sam stuck out a hand, the partially healed scrapes on it plainly visible to everyone in the vicinity. "It's cool, man. Thanks for saying so."

Puck relaxed in his stance, but he didn't move from in front of Mercedes until she pushed past him, facing Langenthal herself. She didn't say anything at first, just looked at him. Then, "One of your buddies shoved Kurt into a locker so hard that he had the shape of the lock on his arm for days."

The football player didn't respond to that right away, just looked at his feet for a moment before saying, "Yeah. And he wasn't sorry. I bet he still isn't. But I am."

Mercedes stared at him for a minute before cleanly sidestepping him and moving right past the group of jocks. No one else approached them after that, and Mercedes was grateful for it – she didn't want to deal with any more apologies or sympathetic words, all far too late and meaningless.

She heard Brittany say quickly, "I'm not making out with any you. You can't touch this," and Mercedes assumed that she was gesturing at her boobs or ass, or maybe both, "until Kurt's all better and back with us again." _Which might never _– Mercedes cut that thought off viciously and banished it to the furthest corner of her mind.

They stopped at their lockers, mindlessly gathering the appropriate books and the like. Santana reappeared from her own locker trip, looking distinctly annoyed. "You guys need to come see this." She flounced away, leaving them all blinking before they walked quickly after her.

Santana was waiting near the principal's office, glowering at the glass walls. They all huddled around her.

There, sitting in the office, were Finn and his mom. There was a man in a suit, and Mercedes could just make out the badge glinting on his belt. Mr. Schuester, fresh stitches lining his temple, was frowning as Figgins and the policeman talked about something. Mrs. Hudson had a hand around Finn's back and while Mercedes couldn't see her facial expression from this angle, she figured the woman was pretty pissed off – everything about her was stiff and stand-offish.

"They're not the first," came a voice from somewhere behind them. They whipped around; Langenthal had followed them, though he was studiously avoiding making eye contact. "A bunch of others have been called in since, like, seven this morning – they're getting suspended for fighting."

"What?" Artie exclaimed. "How many? Who? Why –"

"My friend, Clark, the one that . . . anyway, he told me that they're going by teacher accounts of what happened, so they've been working through a list. Karofsky's been suspended too and a bunch of other guys from football and hockey. There's a whole bunch that've been kicked off their teams or gotten detention. Now, it's your turn." He took a second to give them a sad smile. "Sorry – I don't think you guys deserve any of this." He turned away and headed back to his group of jock friends.

Mercedes exchanged glances with the others, the same thought reflected on all their faces – _our turn?_

"So, they're finally actually _doing_ something," Artie mused. "Just in time for us to get in trouble. Isn't this just the Alanis Morissette definition of ironic?"

"No, I think it may actually be really ironic," Tina sighed out. Mercedes didn't offer her opinion since the definition of ironic was something she was never totally clear on and right now all she really wanted to do was let out a streak of cussing at the unfairness of this whole damn thing.

"I don't think my parents mentioned getting any phone calls, though." Mike was adjusting his sling with his free hand. "And trust me, if someone had been calling them to let them know that I was getting suspended, I would've heard about it. Loudly and repeatedly. There would've been tears and disowning."

Puck shifted, trying to look nonchalant but Mercedes saw his muscles tensing and his eyes darting around, as if looking for an escape route. "I didn't get any phone calls either – I would've been sent back to juvie for sure if they'd gotten wind of me fighting."

Mercedes reached out a hand, gripping his shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll cover for you."

"Actually, Landing Stripe, you and the rest of the mouth-breathers have me to thank for your current lack of suspension and/or expulsion."

It was amazing how much fear a single voice could instill. Mercedes was faintly amused to see all her fellow Glee clubbers jump and then huddle in together. Only she, Santana, Brittany and Quinn hadn't reacted. Oh, she did feel that familiar chill up her spine – as if someone had just walked over her grave – but for the most part, Sue Sylvester the Cheerios' Tyrant didn't completely paralyze her in terror; there was just some localized numbness in her feet that kept her from obeying her 'flight' instincts, but she was used to that.

The tall, imposing woman stood looming over them, resplendent in a bright purple tracksuit. Her eyes focused on each of them in turn, smugly glowering. "I expect much groveling in repayment for this. I put in a few phone calls, showed up in the middle of several family dinners of various school board members. I also happen to be on close terms with the governor – that is, I once put a golf ball through his windshield and offered to let him pay for it in return for not suing him for parking illegally and interrupting my perfect game."

Mercedes was waiting patiently – Coach Sylvester never did anything without an ulterior motive.

"Point being, you little misfits get the pleasure of two months of detention instead being sent home to what I hope would've been vicious beatings and food deprivation. You may now bow down and kiss my size eleven feet."

Quinn titled her head, blinking rapidly. "Wait, we're all getting detention? For two months?"

"Consider it a blessing, my Head Cheerio of Former Disgrace. A blessing from the usually wrathful god of your high school universe." Here she leaned in, causing most of them to flinch back. "You get to spend an hour and a half after school with _me_ every day for eight weeks. This is a unique opportunity to observe and learn from the most powerful cheerleading coach to ever grace the planet. Again, grovel."

"But, wait, Coach, we have Glee practice and –" Mercedes began to protest. A part of her was marveling that she could still care about these things, but it was _Glee_; she needed Glee to keep her sane, now more than ever.

"Ah, yes, well, that will just have to be put on hold for a couple of months, won't it?" And there was that evil glint Mercedes had been waiting for. "After all, I'm sure missing out on some singing and dancing is preferable to being suspended and having a notation put down in your records for fighting, isn't it, my future slaves – I mean, students? Actually, no wait, I meant slaves. Cheerios' slaves. I have uniforms picked out for you. And so much laundry. And I want the entire gym and auditorium scrubbed clean for my Cheerio's to perform in, since you won't be using them."

"But what about Finn?" Puck asked, jerking his head toward the office where discussions were still going on.

"I couldn't save Sasquatch," she answered, glaring over their heads at the group assembled behind the glass walls. "Too many people saw him flatten the hockey goon, and that same goon had to be hospitalized. Somebody had to take the fall – and he's putting the blame all on himself. I know – I've been listening in. I've had bugs in place for months in that office."

She tapped her ear once and Mercedes wondered how this woman wasn't heading the country or the CIA . . . or maybe she was, and they just didn't know it? That would make perfect sense. And explain a whole lot.

"Now" – she clapped her hands together, making them all jump, including Mercedes – "your indentured servitude begins tomorrow. I'll have your uniforms placed in your lockers. You shall all form ranks in the gym at 15:30. Bring your toothbrushes."

She gave them all a truly chilling smile before marching off down the hall. They watched her go, and Mercedes exhaled loudly and tiredly. "Okay then, nobody panic. At least we're not getting suspended."

"And we can work our way around the detentions," Quinn added, crossing her arms. "We can meet on weekends or something. This isn't all that bad."

"The _entire_ gym. The auditorium – laundry!" Artie moaned. "With _her_. I think I'll take the vicious beatings and starvation, thanks!"

"But she did save our collective asses," Sam said, putting an arm around Quinn. "I think she's just as pissed as we are that this happened."

"Kurt did help her win nationals last year." Quinn smiled faintly, and Mercedes flashed back to Kurt's excitement at getting that epic solo – and killing it, because that's what her boy did best. "I really think this is her way of doing us a favour."

"And screwing us and Mr. Schue over at the same time," Santana ground out. "Coach got the whole damn bakery and she's eating it too."

The bell rang and students immediately began heading towards the classes, the chatter picking up and it seemed like things were going back to normal. Mercedes watched the flow of bodies as they all funneled into their classrooms. The last thing she felt like doing was sitting in English and listening to a lecture on _A Midsummer's Night Dream._ Not without Kurt next to her, helping her with the Shakespeare and passing notes in Elizabethan English filled with insults and jokes and mini-sonnets.

She missed him, and she'd only just seen him the night before. Mercedes knew that even when he got better, he wouldn't be coming back here, and suddenly she was holding back tears _again_, this time at the idea that she wouldn't get to see him smiling at her from across the hall, or waiting by her locker to share gossip or to head to lunch together.

"Finn's not getting out of there any time soon," Tina said, staring into the office where Mrs. Hudson appeared to be going off on a rant about something, Mr. Schue nodding along to whatever she was saying. "Let's get to class – I seriously don't want to give them another excuse for more detention."

There was murmured agreement to that and everyone, after a moment's hesitation, split off to their classrooms. Mercedes waited until they were all gone before casting one last look towards the office. Mr. Schuester happened to look up right at that moment . . . and he gave her a small smile, touching a hand to his heart, before rejoining the conversation going on around him.

She smiled back even though he couldn't see, and managed to finally get herself moving. She cast a glance at the bathroom she had dragged Kurt into just a few days before, the bathroom where they had re-connected as friends, where he had hugged her and told her he was lucky to have Mercedes in his life (even though she hadn't helped him when he needed her most). Her lids shut tightly and she pressed her fingers into her eye sockets, physically pushing back tears. She consoled herself with the thought that right after school, she was heading straight to Kurt's house to be with him, even if it was to just sit there, doing homework while he slept off his pain meds.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

It took forever for the school day to pass by. There was a brief announcement as soon as everyone was in their first period classes – Figgins told them that the situation from the week before was not to be repeated and that all students involved (that they could identify) were being punished severely. Other than that, he limited himself to advising them all to put it behind them and be on their best behaviour. Mercedes couldn't believe that was _it_. How could that be all the acknowledgment this _crime_ was getting? She saw many eyes flit to her at the announcement of punishment, but she just ignored them and opened her book as if nothing was happening, suppressing yet another bout of intense emotions – profound irritation and indignation.

The only things that kept her going were the mass texts that Finn was sending everybody periodically throughout the afternoon. First it was letting everyone know that he was suspended for two weeks, then it was a steady stream of updates on Kurt which kept Mercedes from going insane from the waiting. There was also a random text from Rachel, letting everyone know she'd be back at school tomorrow, and apologizing for not being at the hospital. Mercedes quickly texted the girl back in-between classes, letting her know that it was all cool. Rachel was many things, but she would never abandon them all like that unless she had a good excuse – at least, Mercedes hoped it was a good excuse.

Mercedes had been walking down the hall, right after she was let out for lunch, typing a quick text to Ida, who was still at home and not coming to school for another couple of days, letting her know how things were going, updating her on the suspensions, and detentions . . . and then she paused mid-step, mid-text.

She was standing in front of the locker room.

She stared for a moment, trying to see what was it that had caught her eye – she spotted it caught on the edge of the door, near one of the hinges: a strip of bright yellow plastic. Mercedes took a few halting steps, not knowing why, and grabbed that small silver that had nabbed her attention for whatever reason. She tugged and out came a strip of tape, nearly fluorescent, and a couple of black, bold letters standing out. _Crime scene tape_. This locker room had been a _crime scene_.

Her best friend had been inside it. While she had been sitting in class, taking notes and contemplating catching a movie with the girls and Kurt that weekend, Azimio had been punching and kicking, and Kurt must've been so _scared_ and they were all just _down a hallway_, in the _same_ building, but it might as well have been a million miles away. _Oh God_, if Kurt had . . . What if he had _died_ there? All alone, with his friends a few rooms down . . . him laying on the floor . . .

_Bloody_ and _not breathing_.

Mercedes started pushing hard at the door, but it was locked. She gave it a few heaves. She wanted in. She wanted to see exactly where Kurt had been lying when that son of bitch had been beating him. She needed to see if there was still blood on the floor, or . . . _something_. She deserved to see the horror that Kurt had gone through, because she hadn't been with him to stop it from happening.

She hadn't tried, _not once_, to stop it. Not when they'd been throwing him around, harder than anyone else in the school. Not when they hissed disgusting things at him as he passed them. She couldn't even work up the nerve to give Karofsky an ass kicking for _kissing_ Kurt, because she promised her boy she wouldn't but how _stupid_ did that seem now? Maybe if she'd put the fear of God in Karofsky, he would've . . . discouraged Azimio from . . . or maybe . . .

"Mercedes?"

She pressed her forehead against the door before facing whoever had just called her, and it was a struggle to make them out – when had her vision gotten so blurry?

"Oh . . . I'm sorry, so sorry." That voice was thick and who was . . . oh, blonde and soft-spoken . . .

"Quinn, I just . . ."

"I, I know." Mercedes saw that her eyes were sparkling too, and her mascara was running in grey streaks down her face. She opened her arms and Mercedes walked willingly into them. They both stood there, crying into each other's shoulders, ignoring the low hum of conversation as other students passed them by, giving them a wide berth.

Eventually, Mercedes forced herself to pull away, and she wiped at her face with both hands, closing her eyes for a few minutes, breathing in deeply. Once she felt like she had some measure of control, she opened her eyes to see Quinn pulling some tissues out of her bag, passing a couple to Mercedes first and then dabbing under her eyes with one.

They cleaned themselves up and then stood, side by side, staring at that locker room door.

"I know Kurt doesn't believe in God, or a higher power, or whatever," Quinn said quietly. "But I really think that that girl, Ida? Someone up there sent her into this room, to save him."

Mercedes sniffed. "Maybe. Or maybe Kurt's right and there is no God, because why the hell would – would God let Kurt, _Kurt_, get hurt like that? His mom's dead, his father just had a heart attack – isn't that enough for one person? One boy?"

"You don't really believe that," Quinn whispered, and she was stroking her cross necklace as she spoke. "We all have our doubts, but I believe that someone was taking care of Kurt right then. Someone's taking care of him now, too. And all of us. We'll get through this. Azimio beat Kurt up – but there's no way anyone is ever going to keep Kurt down for long."

"We won't let them," Mercedes agreed fiercely. "Even if he's not here anymore, I'm not letting it slide, not with anyone. It's _over_. If I see a single slushie or –"

"I'm with you, Mercedes." Quinn clutched a hand in her own, squeezing tightly. "We'll rule this school, and I can get the Cheerios on board too – with them we totally have the power to make it happen."

Mercedes nodded firmly at this, not letting go of Quinn's hand, and turning away from that locker room. It took her a few steps to realize she still had the bit of crime scene tape grasped in her other hand. As soon as she passed a trashcan, she tossed it, and wiped her sweaty palm on her jeans.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Finn must have gotten a lot of questions about when they could all go see Kurt, as a group, having already given Kurt his space over the weekend because just as last period started, he sent them all a message: _Sorry, guys – Mom and Burt say not today. Kurt's been having a rough time and he's not ready for everyone yet. Maybe tomorrow? And he says thanks for all the support and stuff. But Burt wants to know if you're coming by later, Mercedes?_

Mercedes texted a quick _Hell yeah!_ back before attempting to pay attention to what was happening in her class, which just wasn't happening for her. Her attention was already at the Hummel household and there wasn't any way to force her brain to focus on the here and now.

So it went that, as soon as the final bell rang, Mercedes all but bolted out of the door, before most kids had even stood up, and she didn't even bother stopping by her locker. She'd already gathered everything she needed in the five minutes before last period, and her mom had promised to be outside in the parking lot, waiting to take her to Kurt's.

Mercedes had just passed through the double doors leading to the parking lot when a hand reached over and yanked her out of the crowd.

She stood before Sue Sylvester once more, staring up at her, her mouth open to ask why the hell she was being interrupted in her mission. Coach Sylvester put a stop to this ruminating with a single finger lifted up and held within an inch of Mercedes' face.

"Can it, Aretha – I just have one question for you."

Mercedes pressed her lips together.

"How's Hummel doing?" she asked lowly.

Mercedes parted her lips, not sure how to respond. "Um – he's pretty banged up –"

"That much I figured out on my own, thanks for nothing, my former minion. What I want to know is how he's coping."

She didn't know quite what Coach Sylvester was looking for, but the woman had done them all a 'favour' with the detentions, and she had given Kurt and her the opportunity to shine (imposed dieting and inhumane rehearsal schedules notwithstanding).

"He's . . . he's quieter and I think he's still scared. I mean, he's still Kurt – but, like, less so. I don't know, Coach, it's only been a few days, he's not supposed to be back to normal yet."

The older woman snorted. "I know what PTSD is, Jones – saw it firsthand with guerrilla soldiers in the jungles of Panama after three months of intense survival training, headed by yours truly. Naturally, I myself am immune to such petty trifles as psychological trauma. But Hummel might need more than just hugs and words of comfort – which never did anyone much good. The ginger bushbaby that is our school's guidance counselor has access to lists of therapists and counselors for that touchy feely crap. In the meantime, give him this."

She handed Mercedes a plain black business card, and Mercedes took a second to read the white lettering on it: _Akiyama Shirobei's School of Jujutsu_, followed by an address and phone number.

"As soon as he can stand and bend without passing out, he can enroll there. Shirobei only takes students he handpicks himself, or on the personal recommendation of others who've graduated from his school and mastered the art. Such as myself. I've already called ahead – Hummel can go in whenever he wants."

Mercedes stared up at the Coach, then she smiled. "I'll let him know, ma'am. Thank you."

"And he better put it to good use. This never happens again, or I'll make that six hour session, sans water, I put you two through look like a trip to the day spa, or whatever it is you two pansies do when you feel like getting your manicure on."

With that she straightened and took off – she never seemed to just 'walk' away, it was always this march, as if she was leading a drumline or something. Mercedes was putting the card in her pocket when her mother pulled up next to her. "Ready to go, Mercy?"

She nodded, climbing into the car and casting a sweeping look over at her school as they pulled out. The building looked the same as it always had.

But Mercedes was seeing everything differently now.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

There was a strange car parked in front of Kurt's house when they got there. Mercedes didn't really pay much attention to it though – she wanted out of her car, and into the house. Her mom waited patiently as Mercedes unbuckled her seat-belt and gathered up her bag.

"I'll call you when I'm ready to go home," Mercedes said as she opened the door.

"Okay – and I know we've already talked about this . . . but you promised me that you would call if things got to be too much, right? I know Kurt needs you right now, but if you don't think you can handle –"

"Mom, I told you, I'm . . . not fine, but being with Kurt, it helps. It means I'm _doing something_. I couldn't handle being at home, knowing he's hurting and I could be with him." She'd had this discussion with her mother twice now, but she wasn't angry or frustrated about it, even though they kept saying exactly the same things. She knew her mom was just worried, and no small wonder – Mercedes had gotten home from the hospital Friday night and cried for hours and hours. Nothing her parents did or said could console her. She knew it had scared her mom especially. Mercedes had scared herself. She hadn't known she could hurt that badly, and not have a physical wound to show for it.

"I love you, mom, I'll see you soon."

Her mom gave her a teary smile. "Love you, Mercy, and you make sure that Kurt knows that I love him too. And that as soon as he can, he's coming over and we're going to go through my closet like he's been dying to do, and getting rid of all my eighties blazers. The ones with the shoulder pads – we can even burn them in the backyard if he wants."

Mercedes giggled. "Don't be surprised if he ends up driving over tonight then. You know he's been jonesing for that since you left the house in that ugly-ass royal blue –"

"Okay, okay – get goin', honey. See you tonight."

"Bye, mom!" She grinned, slamming the car door shut and marching up the driveway. There were two cars parked there, actually. One she recognized as Finn's car – well, his mom's car. She already knew that the Hudsons would be here.

She knocked on the front door, and it whipped open almost immediately after she'd dropped her hand. Finn stood there, his black eye stark against his pale face, looking ill.

"Oh God!" Mercedes blurted out. "What happened? Is he okay? Is –"

"No, no, he's fine, it's just . . ." He glanced over his shoulder. "The cops are here," he explained lowly. "I've been trying to stay away from the living room. Kurt didn't want anyone with him but his dad – actually, he tried to get his dad to leave him alone, but you probably know how that ended up."

Mercedes could hear voices in the background now – they were speaking too quietly for her to make out what they were saying, but she would recognize Kurt's high timbre anywhere.

Mrs. Hudson appeared just behind Finn, looking as pale as her son, but she worked up a smile for Mercedes, and Mercedes noticed she was holding three steaming cups. "They're almost wrapped up in there. I made us some hot chocolate so we can wait it out."

Mercedes accepted her cup gladly – fall was in its middle days, but the air already had that familiar, fresh winter bite to it. They stood, clustered together on the porch, sipping their hot drinks.

"I, um, I thought the cops we're going to talk to Kurt on Saturday at the hospital, right before Blaine and I came? I saw them leaving Kurt's room –"

"They came but . . . well, you saw Kurt that day." Mrs. Hudson sighed. "He was still out of it from his meds, sleeping for longer than he was awake, and sometimes he got jumpy – Burt told the cops to come by once Kurt was home."

"Maybe it would've have been better," Finn said softly. "Things were probably fresher in his mind, and it would've been done with –"

"I know, I know." She put a hand on Finn's arm. "But I think Burt was right – Kurt really couldn't have handled it right then. And those pain meds were making him too fuzzy anyway. This is . . . better. And I think he remembers it all just . . . fine."

Finn shuddered. "Yeah. It seems like it."

Mercedes could guess, from their words and disturbed expressions, that they'd overheard some of the things Kurt was saying. She debated asking what they knew . . . but then again, did she really want to know? Maybe it was better if Kurt was the one to tell her – if he really wanted to share, if he needed that much from her, then she would be there for him. Judging by the looks on Finn and his mom's faces . . . She swallowed down her hot chocolate, trying not to imagine how bad it might be.

By the time they had finished off their drinks and opened the door to head inside, they saw Mr. Hummel shaking hands with the two policemen (one she recognized from the hospital – the tall, broad guy with the nice smile) and leading them out the door. They stood aside, letting the two men pass, and then they crowded back into the house, rubbing their hands and shutting the door against the chill. Mrs. Hudson took the mugs from Mercedes and Finn as Mr. Hummel reached out a hand to Mercedes. She slid under his arm, and he pulled her in to his side. "Thanks for coming by again, Mercedes."

She gave him a look. "Well, yeah Mr. Hummel –"

"I think it's about time I reminded you to call me, 'Burt'," he said lightly, belying his weary stance and red-rimmed eyes that kept darting to the couch just behind her.

He reminded her about this every two or three weeks, but Mercedes just couldn't bring herself to refer to adults by anything other than their last names (with a Mr. or Mrs. in front), 'sir' or 'ma'am'. Her parents had told her it was perfectly acceptable if you knew the person well and they had given you permission, but it felt way too awkward for her.

"Reminder noted, Mr. Hummel," she said sweetly.

Finn laughed a bit, and she managed to keep up the smile until she saw Kurt, sitting on the couch, buried under blankets and trembling.

"Hey pretty boy." She drifted away from Mr. Hummel and sat down gingerly on the couch, but not too closely, waiting to take her cues from him.

Kurt looked over at her, smiling briefly. "Heya Mercedes." And that was all he said, shivering again. She wondered, not for the first time, if Kurt actually felt cold or if it was just his mind playing tricks on him. She remembered how freezing he had been to the touch when the paramedics had been wheeling him out. Wet and chilled.

"There's some hot chocolate, Kurt, if you want some?" Mrs. Hudson asked, already heading into the kitchen with the empty cups.

Kurt said nothing for a long moment, then, "I want to head down to the basement – help me out, Mercedes?"

Mr. Hummel immediately put an arm around Kurt's shoulders, and Mercedes was on Kurt's other side, wrapping her own arm around his waist. If he was in any pain, he didn't say so, but Mercedes kept her grip light and tentative as they edged their way down the now perilous steps to Kurt's basement bedroom.

Kurt's dad took a few seconds to arrange Kurt comfortably on his sofa. She watched as he tenderly put a hand on Kurt's head, fingers tangling in his hair. Kurt tried to smile back, but Mr. Hummel couldn't even try; Mercedes saw the man's eyes start to gleam, and he quickly stood up, announcing that he was going to get some of that hot chocolate for Kurt. His voice was deeper, hoarse, and Mercedes watched as he climbed the stairs quickly, a hand coming to wipe at his cheeks as he went. She hoped Mrs. Hudson was up there waiting for him – and that he took his time with the hot chocolate, as much time as he needed.

Kurt cuddled in close to Mercedes as soon as she sat down next to him. She felt herself relaxing for the first time that day, and sighed as he put his head on her shoulder. She grabbed the blanket Mr. Hummel had draped over Kurt, and spread it over them both. She waited again.

"How was school today?" Kurt asked quietly after a minute.

Mercedes shrugged slightly. "It was . . . weird, I guess. Everyone knows what happened, obviously."

Kurt exhaled. "Yeah. Did you get to see Mr. Schue or anything?"

"Just for a second – didn't get to talk to him." Mercedes felt a pang for not thinking of seeking out the man. "He looks okay. And Finn told you all about all the punishments going around, right?"

"Yeah." Kurt sat up to give her a sympathetic smile. "He's kind of relieved he gets to miss out on some of that detention with Coach Sylvester. But when he gets back from suspension, he'll be right there with you guys."

"Oh, that reminds me." She pulled out the card the woman had handed her. "Coach told me to give you this."

Kurt took it and looked it over, eyebrows raising. "Really? Isn't this a little . . . pointless now? And wait, why would she care?"

"C'mon, Kurt, you're still the star that won her nationals. I think it's a good idea – I'll go with you, whenever you're ready. It'll be totally cool, just think about it. I mean, I can already put the smackdown on just about anyone, and you are pretty sneaky and stealthy when you want to be . . ."

Kurt was silent again, placing the card on the table. "I don't think I'll be needing this at Dalton . . . and honestly, I'm . . . it's not going to be a problem anymore."

Mercedes leaned back to look him directly in the face. "What do you mean?"

Kurt was staring at his lap, and he was acting even more subdued than he had been yesterday. It was making her stomach turn, because she couldn't read him anymore, and it had her nervous, because not knowing what was going on in his head meant that she couldn't help him like she wanted to.

"It's nothing – I . . . talking to the cops made me tired, and I really don't want to talk about this anymore today."

Mercedes could leave it alone, or try to push a little. The two choices both had potentially bad consequences, but the blank, tired look on Kurt's face was freaking her out, and she couldn't take the dead tone of voice, and the not-knowing – she couldn't let him think whatever he was thinking that made him sound and look that way.

"Talk to me, baby," she said softly. "Just . . . talk. I don't need to know what you told the cops – just tell me what's going on in your head, and maybe I can help you figure some things out."

Kurt glanced at her briefly before resuming his intense study of his lap. "Mercedes, I – I appreciate you doing this, but can't I try and forget about this, please? It's bad enough I just had to relive the whole ordeal for a couple of strangers, and in front of my dad. I really don't want to have to do this with you too."

"And I'm saying you don't have to. I can tell there's something else going on in that head of yours, and I know it's probably not good. So, I won't make you tell me if you really don't want to, but you gotta know that there's _nothing_ you can say that I won't try to understand or help you with – or even just _listen_, if that's what you need?" She ended that as a question, because she wasn't sure of what she was saying, if they were the right things to say, if she was being too pushy, if she was hurting him somehow.

Kurt licked his lips. He looked off to the side, breathing in and out for moment, before asking, "How much of this do you think was my fault?"

Her response was immediate. "None of this. Nothing, Kurt." A horrible idea struck her. "Did one of those cops –"

"No, no – do you really think they would have gotten out of here alive if they had?" Kurt's eyes were wide, and he looked almost like himself again. "My father would have murdered them right there with the closest object – the lamp, I think."

Mercedes had to smile at that, but that didn't ease her worry. "So why are you asking me this, then? You have to know that Azimio is a sick bastard. That's totally _not_ your fault!"

Kurt went quiet, and he was back to being withdrawn and contemplative. Mercedes waited on pins and needles for him to speak again.

"Okay, but how much of this could have been avoided if maybe I'd . . . been a little less . . . out there? What if I'd . . . toned it down at school or –"

"Wait, are you saying that somehow, you being _you_ is why this happened?" She tried to stay calm, but this wasn't her Kurt; this wasn't anything she'd ever heard him say, or expected him to say, and it was beyond disturbing to know he was actually thinking this way.

"Not completely, but a part of me wonders if maybe I should've been smarter – less naive. I'm not saying I deserved this, but maybe I should've expected it and acted accordingly."

"No," she said firmly. "No way. _No one_ should ever have to expect or prevent an attack like this – that's just . . . no, Kurt. You've always been proud of who you are – don't, _please_, don't let this change that." She snatched a cold hand in-between both hers, placing it over her heart, because she couldn't find the words to express how much she loved him, how worried she was, how _scared_.

"When I was talking with the police, my dad . . . he shouldn't have had to hear that – he shouldn't have had to go through all this –"

"And neither should you!" She had to force herself to lower her voice. "Kurt –"

"Hey, Kurt!" His father called before coming down the stairs. "I bring you hot chocolate – and uh, you think you can handle one more visitor?"

Kurt frowned. "I suppose."

When his dad came down with hot chocolate, Mercedes studied the man again. It was apparent he was dealing with whatever he'd heard from Kurt earlier in the afternoon – but he also looked a little better, a little less on edge. He signaled back up the stairs, and was soon followed by Blaine. Kurt smiled, a weak smile but a real one, and it was great to see. Blaine was smiling back; Mercedes was one hundred percent sure that the boy was crushing, and crushing _bad_. It was sweet, but she had some doubts.

She'd had some time to bond with Blaine on the Saturday they went to see Kurt together; she liked him almost immediately, but once Blaine had blurted out the whole story of what happened with Kurt and Karofsky, Mercedes had had to restrain herself from _bitchslapping_ him. What the hell kind of advice had that been, sending her boy to confront a giant, bullying jock by himself? She didn't blame Blaine for this – she only blamed Azimio and wished him a happy journey to hell – but she did see Blaine as somewhat of an interfering outsider. He had only just met Kurt a week ago, and he was acting like _he_ was the best friend, and he just didn't understand what it meant to be a McKinley High gleek and friends with Kurt Hummel.

Plus, now that he was here? Kurt was not going to speak his mind, not really – not in front of Blaine, who he seemed to idolize. Blaine wasn't the only one labouring under a crush.

Suddenly, Blaine wasn't this nice guy she'd gotten to like, bad advice aside. Now he was an obstacle standing between her and Kurt's well being.

She tried to shake this off as Kurt greeted Blaine and the other boy took a seat on Kurt's other side. She smiled warmly at him, because he _was_ nice and he could put a few more smiles on Kurt's face than she could, but any chance for serious discussion was gone.

Mercedes took in a deep breath and let go of her annoyance – she could resume their conversation later that night, or tomorrow. For now, she settled for enjoying Kurt's company, happy to see Kurt acting somewhat like himself.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Over the next few days, Mercedes patience was put to the test.

Not only were the detentions with Coach Sylvester back-breaking and sometimes disgusting (Cheerios worked up a lot of sweat during routines, and so, laundering their towels and stuff? _Gross_), but they prevented her from getting to Kurt's before Blaine did (and he lived two hours away, how the hell did he _do_ that?). This meant, naturally, that she hadn't been able to get Kurt alone for some in-depth talks.

Kurt was allowing other Glee clubbers to visit too, which meant that even when Blaine left early, there was usually still at least a handful of people there, including Rachel (who had yet to explain her mysterious absence, but it seemed like she also wanted to get Kurt alone for that, and Mercedes could relate to her frustration at not being able to).

Brittany and Santana, Finn (who, to be fair, was practically living with Kurt again, due to his suspension and his mother's constant support of the Hummels) or, hell, even Puck often tagged along with Mercedes to see Kurt. They were all hanging around and being good friends, and staying until Mercedes had to leave, but no one was willing to talk about what had happened (or if they did, they hadn't said anything). Furthermore, Kurt was all pale, with dark circles under his eyes (nightmares, Mr. Hummel had confirmed for her), and it just about drove her crazy. _Someone_ had to get him to open up more, because if he was thinking more poisonous thoughts like those had confessed to her then that needed to be _dealt _with.

Ida had come by once, and Mercedes thought she would have an ally in her, but she was still painfully shy. Even though she managed to say more than a handful of sentences, and share jokes with them, she just couldn't seem to work up the nerve to do much more. To be fair, Ida also seemed to be more than a little damaged by what had happened – Mercedes made a mental note to stop by the girl's house that weekend. She deserved friendship after all that she been through, and more importantly, for what she had done for Kurt. Kurt didn't relax around her the way he did Blaine, but she could tell that they had some stuff in common, mutual trauma aside, (and he almost reverted back to his old self when Ida mentioned that fact that she wanted to re-vamp her wardrobe – that manic glint returned to his eyes for a few minutes at the thought of a makeover). But she had to worry about Kurt first for now – she e-mailed Ida every evening, just to let the girl know she wasn't alone, and promised herself to make the effort to really get to know her.

Three days after her first after-school visit, Mercedes was fed up. She was fed up with people constantly surrounding her boy, she was fed up with the washed-out grey shade in Kurt's eyes, coupled with his long silences, and she was most definitely fed up with the annoyingly charming and accommodating Blaine.

That Thursday, it was practically a full house.

"But dude," Sam whined. "The original _Tron_ – you've gotta see that before you see this new one. I mean, you've gotta appreciate how _amazing_ an achievement it was in special effects and –"

"I didn't even know there was a prequel to this movie," Mike apologized as Sam had some kind of fit; his eyes widened, and his head jerked back and forth as if his brain could not compute Mike's ignorance.

"I think you have just committed a crime against humanity, Mike," Kurt pointed out in a dry tone.

"I saw the first _Tron_ when I was little," Finn reminisced. "I think it was airing on TV or something – it was pretty awesome."

"I'm totally bringing it this weekend," Sam announced. "Kurt, you cool with that?"

Kurt waved a hand, lifting it up from beneath his pile of blankets. "Sounds fine to me." He quickly re-tucked his hand beneath his grey covers. Quinn readjusted them from her place at his side, and then ran her fingers through his hair, straightening out his bangs and pushing them off his forehead. Mercedes flinched at this, but Kurt hardly batted an eyelash, which was all _wrong_.

"You don't have to indulge his geek urges, Kurt – really. He means well, but I think he forgets that the rest of us live on planet Earth, and that Pandora is not a real place."

Sam pouted at his girlfriend. "Oh come on, I saw your collection of _Buffy_ and _Angel_ DVDs. I am so not the only geek in this relationship."

Were Mercedes not deeply annoyed at this invasion of her personal time with Kurt, the sharp and deadly glare Quinn leveled at Sam, and the way he instantly cowered, would have had her laughing and ribbing the boy for hours.

"The difference being is that I don't actually walk around with a bunch of wooden stakes in my back-pack, unlike you who carries that laser pistol thing like some kind of . . . _charm_."

"It's a blaster pistol from Star Wars," Sam corrected and then cringed when everyone turned to stare at him.

"Is it Han Solo's?" Puck asked curiously. He didn't flinch when incredulous looks were shot his way. "What? Han Solo was a total kick-ass hero. So much better than Luke. Wuss."

Quinn looked towards Kurt despairingly. "See? It's catching. Put a stop to this. Hey, we can have a spa weekend instead. Remember when you gave me that pedicure? That was amazing."

"You were pregnant at the time, my sympathies were affected." Kurt sniffed with mock indifference. "But maybe if you agree to let me do that experiment with the curling iron –"

"He's really good with that, Quinn," Rachel jumped in. "He taught me how to use it."

"And that says a lot about my abilities. If I could teach Little Miss Appalling-Fashion Sense a thing or two about hair style, I must be good. Therefore, you must trust me."

"Even Santana lets him do her hair and make-up sometimes before we go perform," Puck agreed with a half shrug.

Quinn sighed. "Fine, fine – but if you ruin my hair, I'm shaving off yours."

Kurt smiled. "Challenge accepted. Thanks, Quinn."

There, right _there:_ no cutting remark, no threat, and his insult to Rachel had nowhere near his usual level of bite. Mercedes watched Kurt withdraw for the rest of the conversation as it shifted to what movies were considered 'geek' movies and which ones were cool, to sports, which left out Mercedes, Quinn, Rachel and Kurt as Mike, Puck, Finn, Blaine, Sam and Tina launched into a football debate.

"The team sucks so bad, it's good, 'cause they'll get first picks," Finn said. "Dude, there's absolutely nothing wrong with losing like that – it takes a man to accept defeat."

Kurt flinched.

Mercedes could see that Quinn felt it, but she just adjusted his blankets again, and put her head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering as the football debate went droning on.

"Please, I saw that douchebag pitching a hissy fit after – not what I would call 'taking it like a man'," Puck said with disgust.

Kurt's eyes glazed over, a shudder ran through him, and Mercedes saw Rachel casting him a concerned look, but she just bit her lip and grasped her boyfriend's hand.

Blaine was staring at Kurt. He opened his mouth – _finally_, Mercedes thought – and said, "Hey, Kurt – you want me to get you some more blankets?"

All right, that was_ it_.

While everyone else kept up the 'let's pretend nothing's wrong' façade with Kurt, she asked Blaine if he wouldn't mind helping her prepare some snacks upstairs. He agreed readily, gentleman that he was. She shut the door to the basement behind them, and, seeing that Mr. Hummel was not in the living room, and that Mrs. Hudson was out, she immediately turned on Blaine. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

Blaine's blinked rapidly. "I'm sorry, I don't –"

"Boy, shut up, or I will cut you. Let me finish." She glared and he snapped his mouth shut. _Good_. "I don't know if you've noticed, but that boy in there? He is seriously messed up. That is not the Kurt Hummel that I know – and maybe you haven't known him long enough to tell, but it's not good, the way he's acting right now. Kurt likes to _talk_. He's bitchy in the good way, and he's always smart, and always fun, and he sings whenever he catches just one note of a song he likes, and, and . . . He doesn't give a damn about football or whatever other sports you guys talk about. Rachel is in there with a fuzzy pink kitty sweater that hurts me to look at, and he hasn't said _one word_ about it. Finn almost spilled coke on his white carpet and he didn't even _notice_. And no one is helping! _You_, especially!"

Blaine mouthed silently for a full minute before managing to string together a few words. "Mercedes, I, I just don't want to push him. It's going to take time for him to bounce back and I really don't want to make things worse. I . . . I really am overwhelmed by this whole thing." He looked both embarrassed and depressed to have to admit that.

Mercedes leaned back, crossing her arms. "No shit."

"No, I mean . . ." He went for his hair again, stopping at the last second before he could get a handful of gel. "What he's had to put up with . . . All I got at my old school was a lot of verbal abuse thrown at me every day, and maybe some crap written on my locker every once in a while. Some douchebag once stole my bag and found this picture I had of . . . some celebrity." He blushed a bit here, and Mercedes softened. Slightly. "It was pretty bad, after that. But no one ever pushed me hard enough to give me _bruises_. No one has ever threatened my life, or thrown food at me, given me swirlees, wedgies – _none_ of that. I was stupid, thinking that Kurt's experience was the same as mine. Now, he's hurt, and still hurting, and I want to help – I can tell he looks up to me, but I don't want to talk about this with him because, honestly, Mercedes?"

He glanced towards the basement door, which was still shut, and then turned back to her, looking far more like a real teenager, less like a painfully cheerful and charmingly perfect private school boy – more like that frantic, desperate guy who'd run into the hospital a few days ago.

"I have no idea what the _fuck_ I'm doing."

Mercedes exhaled loudly, dropping her arms. "Join the club."

"Really?" Blaine sagged, losing his perfect posture, looking at her sadly. "I thought as his best friend, you would –"

"I'm not a counselor – and Mr. Hummel is trying to convince Kurt to see one, but he's not having it. I think his dad is gonna to make him, really soon. But for now Mr. Hummel just . . . he wants what we all want, I guess. To try and give Kurt something simple, to let him be happy for a bit. But it's not happening. I want him to talk to me, because I know him. Maybe I'm pushing too hard, and it's too soon, but I'm just so scared that if we don't do something, if we don't say something, we'll lose him again, and I _can't_." She stopped as her voice thickened and her eyes burned.

A hand reached for hers, tentatively, then gripped her tightly when she didn't pull away. Blaine breathed out heavily. "I get it. We've failed him once already, haven't we?"

"Yeah, big time – and we could have lost him forever, and I don't want to _still_ lose him. I don't want him to let this change him. I get that it'll always be there. But . . ." She shrugged helplessly.

Blaine stared down at their interlocked fingers, smiling a little. "I think you have it right. I think you do need to talk to him, and I'll stay out of your way for the next couple of days until you do. If he needs me, he knows he can call me – or, maybe you can call me for him, since he doesn't seem to be reaching out to any one right now." Mercedes nodded. "And if you do get him to open up to you, maybe you could try and convince him to see a counselor, or therapist, or someone with professional training. This isn't something he can go alone, even with our support."

Mercedes nodded again. "Gotcha. Don't worry, that's pretty much what I was thinking."

"Well, you do know him better than I do – and apparently are much better at . . . all of this." He waved a hand in the general direction of the basement.

She squeezed his other hand and then pulled him in for a hug. "No, I'm not. I'm just as freaked out as you, I promise." She stepped back, grinning. "And just for the record, I expect you to take up my duties when he's in that fancy school of yours. I'll give you the lowdown in a few days – like, if he starts going for the chocolate pudding at lunch? That usually means something's up, and it ain't good. And he is . . . he was . . . dead serious about his hair. Like, you will lose fingers if you mess it up – the only person who can really get away with that is his dad. And I got away with it, once. But he was drugged up on NyQuil so I don't think it counts."

Blaine laughed. "Noted. Maybe you should write all this down, that way I'll have a checklist to refer to."

"No problem. 'The Care and Handling of Kurt Hummel' by Mercedes Jones." She shot him a sidelong glance. "Blaine, just for the record – there will be no 'handling' until Kurt's back on his feet, got me?"

Blaine's eyes went huge at that random segue, and he stuttered rather endearingly for a minute. "What – what – he's just a friend, Mercedes. My being gay doesn't mean that I –"

"Blah, blah, woof, woof," Mercedes dismissed. His crush was pretty obvious to her, and while she did want Kurt happy, she wanted him to get better from this _first_; he needed to get his head back on straight before anything happened with this boy.

Blaine gathered himself and straightened to his full height – which really wasn't that much taller than Mercedes, and for some reason it delighted her that Kurt was taller than Blaine. "Mercedes, I'm serious. He needs friends right now, and even before this happened, I wanted to be that for him. Maybe I'm not the best mentor, but I want to try . . . Kurt deserves to have a good friend that can relate to him on that front. That can maybe guide him through all this."

"Right, okay, 'guide' away." She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. "I wasn't kidding about the cutting."

Blaine lifted both hands up. "Don't worry. I saw all of you in the hospital, remember? I know _exactly_ what will happen to me if Kurt gets hurt. Which he won't, because I'm planning on being a much better friend than I have been so far."

Mercedes smiled understandingly. "Me too. Now, let's actually get some snacks."

They prepared a large plate of fruit, crackers and cheese (Mercedes knew Kurt's stomach couldn't handle too much sugary crap right now, and quite frankly, with how little he'd been eating, whatever he _did_ eat should be healthy).

As they grabbed a few sodas and juice boxes, Mercedes felt the urge to ask one last, random thing. "Hey, Blaine – who was the celebrity in that picture you mentioned?"

He almost dropped the plate, looking distinctly pained. "Oh, no one in particular. The fact that it was a guy was enough ammunition, you know?"

Blaine's attempt at evasion was so pathetic she hardly batted an eyelash. "Was it Neil Patrick Harris? No, no, someone embarrassing I bet . . . a boy band member? Or maybe a Disney star like –"

"It was Zac Efron and please, God, don't tell Kurt," he blurted out, and then looked absolutely horrified for having admitted it.

Mercedes burst out laughing. "Oh, God . . . that was . . . that's . . . Is it his hair? His charismatic smile? Do you have the soundtracks on your iPod? C'mon, you can tell me."

"Um, no, I will not tell you – I'm getting the distinct impression that you are far more evil than you let on, and Kurt did not warn me enough about you." He didn't blush like Kurt did – his was more subtle, a slight pinkness in the cheeks that could be dismissed as something else, but for his ears; they were _bright_ red. Mercedes couldn't help but to keep right on laughing as they walked back to the basement. Blaine sighed. "I'm assuming now that this is going to be the first topic of discussion once we get down there?"

"Oh, no, I'm saving this for a rainy day." She bumped his shoulder lightly. "By the way, the crap you went through at your old school? Words are enough, Blaine, trust me. It definitely counts as bullying and it can be really, really bad. Don't think that it wasn't. You didn't deserve it, and you still don't. I'm real happy you're not there anymore."

Blaine's smile was wide, reaching his eyes and making him look less put together, even a little dorky – and she could see herself getting to be good friends with him, even if he and Kurt never became boyfriends.

"That means a lot coming from you, Mercedes."

She grinned back and held the door open for him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

There was shouting.

Kurt was on his feet, and Finn was looking shocked, hands up in a placating gesture. Everyone was in the process of standing up, looking confused and scared by what was happening.

"_Back off, Finn_," Kurt was yelling; it was raspy sounding, like it was being torn out of him, and Mercedes rushed in, dropping the drinks somewhere, she wasn't sure where. She heard the plate slam down too as Blaine caught up with her.

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded.

"I . . . I was just . . ." Finn swallowed, eyes never leaving Kurt. "I was trying to apologize for not being there, for not . . . and he told me it was all right, to forget about it. But it's not, and I tried – he just . . . he lost it."

"Kurt, dude, Finn didn't mean anything by it." That was Puck, sounding all calm and sincere, and _holy crap_, Mercedes had to take a minute to absorb that. "We're all sorry, we're all pissed at ourselves for letting it get so far that –"

"_No!_" Kurt jerked back, walking backwards and away from them all. Mercedes saw his eyes flashing with anger, and it was quite possibly one of the freakiest things she'd seen, because she had _no clue_ why this was happening. This wasn't Kurt. She'd never even _heard_ of him acting this way, not ever.

"_You_, don't get to say that – none of you get to apologize." Kurt ended up against the wall, and he was shaking his head. "I don't want to hear it. It's my fault, and –"

Mercedes couldn't let that slide. "No, Kurt, I already told you that –"

"Mercedes, please," he begged. "You think I haven't gone through this a million times in my own head? You think it's easy for me to admit that? Honestly, the fact that none of you was there to help is irrelevant. If I hadn't been this . . . this loud, obnoxious personality, maybe they wouldn't have felt the need to –"

"Kurt, that just isn't true!" Blaine cut in, inching closer but stopping a few feet away, like all of them were, as if there was some kind of invisible barrier. "I was quiet, I blended in with the crowd – I did everything I could to make myself less of a target, but it didn't matter! They tormented me every day. Kurt, you're such a brave, amazing –"

"No, you don't know what . . . I'm not brave I . . ." He stumbled over his words, dropping his gaze to his feet. "I wanted to be saved, so badly, and I said things that . . ."

Mercedes knew she was crying again, but she barely noticed. "Kurt – we're the failures here, we should have –"

"But then why didn't you?" he suddenly cried out, staring angrily at them again. There was only one tear making its way down his flushed cheek, but it was enough to get Quinn, who had appeared at Mercedes' other side, to start crying as well. Rachel was pressing in close to Tina, who in turn was clutching Mike's hand tightly, and Puck was looking so concerned it really made Mercedes' head spin. Finn was reaching out towards Kurt with one hand, but it was just hanging in mid-air, as if he was frozen.

"Where were you? Why couldn't you see how bad it was hurting? Do you know what Mr. Schue did before all this zero tolerance came about? _Nothing_. He asked me if there was _anything he could do_. 'You _normally_ don't let them get to you' – like this is _normal_. It's _normal_ for the, the, _fag_ to get pushed around, but bless his heart, he takes it like a champ! Like a _man_!" He laughed bitterly here, as if that was an inside joke of some sort.

No one said a word. Kurt's breath heaved once and he kept right on going. "You're all suddenly here every day, talking with me like you've known me all your life, like you really _care_, but why couldn't you have _cared_ earlier! Why couldn't you have stopped this before Azimio did this to me! Karofsky was practically bouncing me off walls on a daily basis – he, he . . ." Kurt stopped himself there, and Mercedes knew he had almost revealed the kiss to them all. She was glad he didn't – he would have hated himself later, and Finn would've probably gone off to finish the job he'd started last week on Karofsky, joined by the rest of the Glee boys present here. And Quinn. And Tina – maybe even Rachel would go along and happily commit murder. Mercedes knew that she definitely wanted to inflict some pain on _someone_ for all this. _Focus. Focus on Kurt_. Mercedes inhaled deeply, trying to clear her thoughts and find something to say that would calm him down.

"Kurt," she spoke slowly, quietly. "Kurt, I am your best friend. I've screwed up badly, we all did. We all just, I don't know, we got used to it. We got used to the slushies, to the insults, to all of it, and when things got worse for you, we didn't really . . . because you're right Kurt – it's gotten to be normal, which is wrong. So wrong. So messed up. And we're sorry. We will be sorry forever, please, please accept our apology. Or don't, whatever, but please, let us try and help you now."

"Kurt?"

Everyone jumped, except Kurt, whipping around to see Mr. Hummel coming down the stairs. He looked deeply worried, tensing up as he zeroed in on his son. It was pretty much how he always looked lately, especially after the police came by.

He took the steps one at a time, staring at Kurt. "Kurt, what – what's wrong?"

Kurt said nothing. He closed his mouth and stared down at the floor. Mercedes wanted . . . She didn't know what she wanted anymore, it was all a jumble in her head: wanting this to be over, wanting for it to never have happened, wanting Kurt to just stop hurting and go back to being himself.

Mr. Hummel finally looked at them as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Time for you all to leave. Finn, you head on upstairs – your mom needs some help unloading groceries."

It took a few seconds, but eventually everyone started moving – Finn held onto Rachel's hand as they went up the stairs together, leading the group out. Rachel was frantically whispering something to him. The only people left in the basement were Blaine, Mercedes, Kurt and his father. Mr. Hummel looked hard at both her and Blaine. "I know you two mean well, but you need to go home. Let me take care of this. Especially you Blaine, it's gonna be a long drive for you as it is."

Blaine looked conflicted. He glanced towards Mercedes, and she nodded.

"All right." He started for the stairs, but then paused, turning back to face Kurt, who was still staring down at his feet. "Kurt? If you need me, for any reason, you just call, okay? Or tell Mercedes or your dad . . . talk to them if you can't talk to me . . . it's okay, I promise."

Kurt didn't respond, but Blaine didn't appear to let it bother him – he smiled tentatively at them all and walked up the stairs.

Mr. Hummel turned to her, sighing. "Mercedes –"

"I'll go," she said in a trembling tone. "If he wants me to leave."

He nodded and then began to approach Kurt, cautious. "Hey, kiddo, listen, you and me, we're going to have a talk, okay? Mercedes wants to help you out too, but she's fine with –"

"I know, dad, I heard," Kurt breathed out, lifting a hand to push back a few locks of brown hair from his forehead. He finally looked up. "Mercedes, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me –"

"No apologizing, Kurt." She gave him a watery smile. "Please don't. Do you want me to stay? I won't say a word if that's what you want."

Kurt chewed on his lower lip before answering, "Okay. Yes. Please."

Mr. Hummel went to Kurt's side then, reaching up very slowly, putting an arm around him in a half-hug. "Do you want to tell me what's on your mind, son?"

Kurt huffed, his expression sardonic. "Not particularly. It was . . . I don't even know, dad. I just snapped. It was all very melodramatic and completely illogical. It's over now."

Mr. Hummel tugged him closer. "I don't think so. Ever since the cops," there was a noticeable waver there, but he kept on going, " . . . came by to take your statement, you've been real quiet and I can tell, Kurt, that things are worse than you're sayin'. You woke up screaming last night, and you won't take me up on the counseling. Now, I don't want to push you." Mercedes had to flinch at that coming up _again_. No one wanted to push him, no one wanted to hurt him more than he already had been. "But Kurt – you're going to have to talk to someone, real soon. And I'm thinking that therapy is the way to go."

"No, dad." Kurt seemed to panic at that. "No, I don't want to go to some stranger, once a week, and talk about _this_ – spend months and months talking about something I just want to forget. I can't see that helping me, dad, I can't –"

"Okay, okay – we'll talk more about that later. But I do want you to talk to me, right now. Something made you snap today, what was it?"

Kurt shrugged as best he could with the weight of his father's arm on his shoulders. "I . . . Finn was apologizing for not being able to stop this. He said that if he could've traded places with me, he would. That I didn't deserve to be hurt that way, and that everyone felt responsible for allowing it to happen. And when he said that he was sorry, I told him to stop apologizing, but he wouldn't and I had to make him stop. It irked me. It was . . . I can't explain it, dad. I don't want to talk about this. About anything to do with this." His voice was taunt, and he looked like he was on the verge of snapping again. Mercedes' shoulders hunched in as she watched his every move, specifically every shift in his expressive eyes.

"Try – it doesn't have to be about what happened just now. What about . . . when you were talking to the cops on Monday, you . . . you talked all about what Azimio _did_ to you. You didn't talk about _you_, and I get it. Those cops didn't need to know all that you were thinking, you didn't want to worry me – and I don't need you to tell me that you were scared, and in pain . . ." Mr. Hummel faltered, shutting his eyes. "God, Kurt, . . ."

Kurt turned, wrapping his arms around his father, and suddenly, he was the one comforting and reaching out. Mercedes maintained her silence. Whenever Kurt needed her, she'd be here. But this was all about son and father – and she felt vaguely wrong witnessing this moment; it was private, personal, but Kurt hadn't wanted her to leave.

"There's . . . there was this . . . that happened, and it's . . . in my nightmares." Kurt's arms tightened noticeably, words muffled by his father's shirt. Mercedes breathed in and out, her heart clenching as Mr. Hummel pulled back, fingers under Kurt's chin, lifting to get a good look at Kurt's face.

"What – is it something we need the cops for?"

"No, it isn't . . ." Kurt rubbed his eyes, blowing out a breath between slightly parted lips. "Never mind, dad. I'm sorry for scaring you. I'm sorry for freaking out for no apparent reason. I need more sleep. Maybe those sleeping pills that Carole suggested."

"Kurt."

Kurt gave him a look, untangling his limbs from his father's. "Dad, I'm fine. Really. It's simply a case of lack of sleep and poor eating choices. The . . . what happened is over now, and I'm getting better. Slowly. And really, it wasn't as bad as it could have been."

Kurt's fluctuating emotions were giving her whiplash; they were very out of character, but she recognized that tone, this tactic. This was Kurt, King of Evasion, ready to duck and cover against all inquiries. Mercedes could see Kurt compartmentalizing, putting it all away – and she knew it was only days since the attack but she couldn't let this happen. She couldn't let Kurt become cold about it, accept it as nothing and try to pretend he could just let it go. Luckily, Mr. Hummel was on the same page as her.

"No, no," he said, grabbing his son gently, not letting him escape. "Tell me, tell me please."

Kurt went from aloof to tortured within the space of a second, shaking in his father's arms. "He . . . he tried to . . . it hurt so much, dad." And there were the tears that both relieved her and broke her heart. "I was so scared, for you and me. Because you didn't deserve to have to come and see me, cold and dead like that – all because . . . I couldn't believe someone could do that!" His anger was there, but the sadness, the inability to understand how someone could hate him so much.

Mercedes got it, that incomprehension, and she could see how his dad was struggling with it too, because he had a marvelous, _fabulous_ son, and why couldn't the whole world see what an amazing kid he was? Mercedes did, easily, and the rest of the world could go to hell if it didn't.

Kurt wasn't fighting him anymore, burying himself in his father's chest, crying, sobbing while Mr. Hummel held him tightly. Mercedes worried about the sore ribs and bruises, but Kurt didn't even flinch, he only clutched at his dad just as hard. "I thought he was going to kill me, daddy. I thought I was going _to die_."

Mercedes watched her best friend in the entire world, someone she loved as dearly as she loved her own family, completely fall to pieces. A part of her broke right along with her Kurt – to hear him sound so wretched and without hope, it made everything in her rail and scream about the unfairness of it all. Her boy was something special, and good, and sweet, and he didn't deserve this . . . this _bullshit._

Burt was looked as though his son's words had thoroughly destroyed him, and Mercedes had to cover her mouth to muffle her own cries, because the man was hanging by a thread already, and she didn't want him to comfort her as well – which he would if she broke down in sobs like she wanted to.

Kurt pulled away after a moment, red in the face, a hot mess – Mercedes knew that uncomfortably warm feeling one got after a long crying jag – and he was wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hands. It was such a little boy gesture, she couldn't resist anymore – she broke into the family tableau, grabbing Kurt's long fingers, entwining them with her own.

He said nothing, didn't smile, but there was a slight returning pressure, and she took that as a sign to keep holding on.

"I . . . I asked him to stop," Kurt said in a monotone. "Begging him, really. Cried and begged like . . ." Kurt looked at his feet, and he sounded disgusted with himself. "I told myself I was doing it for you, dad. And I'd do a lot worse to spare you pain, but I think I just wanted it to end, and I would've done anything for that to happen. What does that make me, dad?"

Mercedes couldn't keep up with this anymore – Kurt's guilt, Kurt placing the blame on himself, Kurt lashing out at his friends and teachers, and now _this_. How could someone feel so much pain and confusion and still function?

Mr. Hummel hushed Kurt by wiping at his son's tears. "Okay, okay. You did what you had to, to survive, Kurt. It's okay, it's okay. You're here with me, you made it. There's no shame in crying when it hurts, in wanting the hurt to stop, son. None. _Nothing_ is your fault. Not the bullying, not asking for him to stop, and especially not you being yourself. _You_, Kurt, are the only thing that matters to me – and if it had been me in that room, you bet your ass I would've said or done anything to get back to you, to not leave you alone. Stop thinkin' these things, stop blaming yourself for something that was completely out of your control. There was nothin' you could've done. Nothin' other than what you did – which was _survive_."

Kurt was crying again. Mr. Hummel, with all the tenderness in the world, helped guide him towards his bed. Mercedes let go of Kurt's hand, rushing ahead to pull the sheets back, and assisting his dad with easing Kurt up onto the mattress. She tugged off his slippers and socks while Mr. Hummel sat with him, whispering comforting words into his ears.

Without thinking, Mercedes crawled onto the bed on Kurt's other side, wrapping her arms around him as best she could while he was still in his father's embrace. Kurt grabbed at the arm that came around his waist. "Stay, please." That was that – she wouldn't move until he said so.

At some point, Mr. Hummel started to shift off the bed, unwrapping Kurt's arms from around him, adjusting his pillows and laying him back. Kurt was asleep, snoring through a stuffy nose. Mercedes snuggled closer to him, and watched as Mr. Hummel tucked his son in, eyes on Kurt's flushed features.

He kept on studying Kurt's face as he asked her, "Do you want to stay?"

"That's what he asked me to do," Mercedes said quietly.

He nodded as if that was what he expected to hear. "I'll call your parents. I'll drive you to school tomorrow, if you want."

Mercedes didn't particularly care about tomorrow – she couldn't think beyond this bedroom, this night. She wanted Kurt to know that nothing he said or did would drive his friends or family away. Her head rested on his shoulder. His arm came up to wrap around her.

Mr. Hummel nodded again even though she hadn't said anything. He was turning to go back upstairs when Mercedes stopped him with a whispered, "Burt."

He looked back at her, a faint smile on his face. "Yeah, Mercedes?"

"Is this . . . what happened today, and him talking to us . . . that's good, right? Him opening up? It'll be better for him now?"

Mr. Hummel took off his baseball cap, running a hand over his head before jamming it back on. "I don't know, Mercedes. God, I hope so. But it'll take a while to get back to . . . before. And it won't ever be the same, even then."

She inhaled wetly. It wasn't what she wanted to hear. But it was the truth.

Mr. Hummel left without another word. He turned off the lights as he went, and Mercedes settled in the darkness, Kurt's warm presence pressing against her. He shifted down, tightened the arm around her, and she rested a hand on his chest, directly above his heart. She hadn't ever tried counting sheep or anything to fall asleep, but this . . . this was soothing. She counted out Kurt's heartbeats until everything faded away.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note:** First off, I need to give kudos and a shout-out to **Ella Greggs** for helping me out with this chapter (and the previous one – there was a change to the Burt/Ida flashback that is thanks to her and makes it a smoother read). Her amazing fic _Survival of the Fittest, _provided inspiration for the Mercedes/Sue Sylvester exchange, and if you haven't already read it, please do so – her Sue Sylvester is wicked awesome, as only canon Sue can be!

And, once again, apologies for the lengthy wait – the holidays, friends and family completely and utterly dominated my last two weeks of December, and made it very difficult to write, let alone post anything. Inspiration has been a fickle friend lately, too :(

There will be one more chapter, from a new perspective I haven't done yet in this story, and then the Ida Epilogue, and that will be it. Maybe.

If you are still reading this, THANK YOU. And to all of you who've reviewed, favourited, alerted – again, many, many, infinite thanks. I really hate not being able to express my love and appreciation for you all in a different manner :( But THANK YOU is all I can think of to say.

And as a random end to this ramble: I want an army of alpacas.

If you wish to know why, please refer to Chris Colfer's twitter.


	9. Sit and Listen

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Sit and Listen_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Thanks," Kurt said in a smooth, low tone. He hardly ever spoke much louder than that these days, and Finn didn't like it. It was weird, not at all what he was used to, and he didn't _want_ to get used to this.

He smiled at him anyways. "No problem." He handed Kurt the mug of hot tea, and then sat back down on the couch and played the movie. They had been alternating between movies that Kurt enjoyed and movies that Finn liked, which had been working out pretty well. Right now they were watching _Chicago _and Finn was actually having fun with it. During some of the boring parts (of which there were surprisingly few) he easily pictured Rachel in Catherine Zeta-Jones role (and outfits). His girlfriend could totally rock that.

He pointed out as much to Kurt, who rolled his eyes and said, "Rachel playing a conniving, manipulative diva with a raging ego? What a leap."

Finn tossed a pillow at him. "Hey, that's my girl you're talkin' about!"

Kurt reached a hand out from the pile of blankets he seemed to be always buried underneath, catching the pillow one handed, and throwing it back. "Tell me what part of that sentence _wasn't _accurate, and I'll apologize." He _almost _had a smirk on his face, and even though he was being mean about Rachel, it was all so close to normal Finn couldn't help but be a little happy about it.

But he really should defend his girlfriend now. Finn opened his mouth and then paused. "Well, she might kinda be all those things – but she's not like, _completely_ self-centred, and she's an awesome friend. She totally has my back – and yours, too, Kurt."

Kurt's almost-smirk faded into a small smile. "Yeah, I know."

Finn jerked in his seat, suddenly remembering his latest message from the small diva_. _"Rachel said she's coming by tomorrow. She wanted to talk with you alone. And she's says she's sorry, again. For, you know, not hanging around as much as we've all been."

Kurt nodded. "That's cool, I guess. I wonder why no one else has barged in our solitude yet."

Finn smiled sheepishly. "Well, that was me, actually. I figured after what happened yesterday, you wouldn't want people just . . . hovering around. So, uh, I told everyone to back off for a day or two. They mentioned maybe popping in on Sunday. But, uh, if I –"

"No, no." There was a warmth and gratitude in Kurt's expression that Finn hadn't seen directed at him since before a certain encounter in Kurt's basement, months ago. "Thanks, Finn – that's perfect."

Finn relaxed back into the couch cushions, beneath a thin blanket of his own (that wasn't long enough, but nothing ever was), and went back to watching the movie.

After the craziness that was last night, he and his mom had gone home really late and come over really early today (like they had been doing pretty much every day). Burt had been up, looking like he hadn't slept at all, and Finn couldn't blame him. He didn't know what had happened after they had left the basement, but he guessed Kurt had probably talked to his father more about some of the stuff Finn had overheard (unintentionally) from his conversation with the cops a few days back. That was the stuff of nightmares for anyone – he couldn't even imagine what was going through Burt's head while hearing those things about his _son_.

Earlier this morning, Finn had given his mom and Burt some alone time while he went to check on Kurt in the basement. He hadn't been surprised at all to see Mercedes slowly making her way out of Kurt's bed, trying not to wake him. She'd given Finn a weak smile, and he smiled back before heading upstairs again, letting her get ready for school in private. It was strange, but at the same time sort of not, him being suspended; it felt _necessary_. He didn't think he could handle being back in that school yet, not after the _rage _he'd felt just _looking _at Karofsky's face. That bastard was suspended too, but there were his buddies and a few of the douchebags from the football team still present at the school, and Finn wasn't too sure he'd be able to keep from punching someone, _anyone_ out.

Plus, it meant he got to watch over Kurt.

While Finn's mom and Burt were hanging out with Kurt in the basement, Mercedes gave Finn something like her blessing to watch over Kurt, and that was fine with Finn. It was new, this strong, irresistible urge to take care of Kurt – but Finn wasn't going to fight it. He wanted to keep as much badness away from the other boy as he could.

That was why, when his mother took him aside after Burt left to drop Mercedes off at school, he had no trouble accepting her news.

_Finn didn't know why it surprised him, but it did, and he couldn't help widening his eyes. "We're moving back in?"_

_His mom bit her lip. "I know it feels probably about as sudden as the last time. And if you have strong objections to it, we won't do it, Finn, but will you hear me out?"_

_Finn nodded – he'd listen, but he already knew his answer._

"_After Burt's heart attack, I asked him if he would consider letting me stay with him – I don't need to tell you how worried I was. And not just for him. For Kurt to be taking most of the responsibility for his father's care – I didn't want that for him. But Burt said that he didn't want me to move in to play nurse, and he wanted to wait for a little while longer to have this discussion. Now . . . he talked it over with Kurt first, and he just asked me if we could come back. The plan is to buy a house together, real soon, but for now we'll all be here. If you feel uncomfortable about staying with Kurt, Burt says he's been meaning to buy a fold-out couch anyways, and he'll do it this weekend –"_

"_Mom, it's fine. I'm totally cool with it."_

And he was, he wasn't lying – not even to himself. The idea of being closer to Kurt was a relief (he shot a glance towards the boy on the couch, reassuring himself that Kurt was still there and still okay). He wouldn't even mind rooming with Kurt, but he felt like maybe he should hold off on that for a bit, and let the other boy have his room to himself.

The phone ringing made them both jump, and Finn watched as Kurt had to actually calm himself down by closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

Finn grabbed the cordless that had basically taken up residence in the living room. "Hello?"

"Hey, buddy, just calling to see how you two were doing."

Finn shot Kurt a small smile. "We're pretty cool, Burt – working on movie number four."

"Wow, you're really ploughing through them, aren't ya? Is Kurt still awake?"

"Yeah, you want to talk to him again?"

"Nah, just let him stay nice and cosy under his blankets. I'll see you guys when I get back – in a couple of hours, after we buy that new couch."

Finn hung up. That had been Burt's second call of the day. His mom had called once, around lunchtime, to make sure Finn wasn't doing anything fancy or crazy in the kitchen that would involve the fire department being called in (again). But no, Finn had stuck to his favourite cooking tool – the microwave. That and leftovers equalled a recipe for success.

By the end of _Chicago_, Kurt was dozing, and Finn was fielding texts from all the gleeks. There was one from Ida, asking if he wanted her to drop off the contents of Kurt's locker. Finn blinked for a second, then he remembered that the original plan for that day involved everyone coming over later (after detention), and Mercedes had mentioned she was going deal with Kurt's locker. She said Ida would be over first since the shy girl had volunteered to deliver Kurt's things.

However, he had promised Kurt a friends-free day, and even though Ida was pretty quiet and stuff, he wouldn't feel right making an exception. He texted her and asked if she wouldn't mind coming tomorrow. He received a response almost instantly. _Not a problem: tell Kurt whenever he's ready is all right with me :) _He wondered if Mercedes had told Ida about the epic breakdown.

Kurt muttered something in his sleep and Finn shot him a quick look. He knew from their short time as roomies that Kurt wasn't much of a sleep-talker. The other boy's face contorted for minute, as if he was in pain; Finn was untangling himself from his blanket and standing over Kurt before he knew it. But he had no idea what to do as Kurt started whimpering. He reached out a hand in fits and stops, before kind of patting Kurt on the head, as gently as possible. The noises decreased slightly, which encouraged him, so he whispered, "It's cool, Kurt – you're home. You're safe. You're _safe._"

Kurt quieted, curling in on himself and pulling his own blankets up to his chin. He looked unbearably young, but the dark rings under his eyes, the frown lines (neither of which Finn was _ever _going to mention out loud), made him look older too. It was messing with Finn's head, and he wished suddenly that his mom, or Burt, were home, or even Mercedes – she was awesome, and she was Kurt's best friend. She always knew what to say and how to talk him down.

His phone buzzed as it received another text, this one from Puck: _Dude, I need to talk with you – it's about Karofsky. _Just seeing that name had red edging in on Finn's vision. He turned off the TV and DVD player, heading towards his mom and Burt's room, just down the hall, so he could hear it when Kurt got up. He speed-dialled Puck's number, and the first ring was cut off almost immediately. "Hey man, how's my boy Kurt doin'?"

It had taken Finn a while to get used to Puck referring to Kurt as 'his boy', considering that the last time he said more than two words to Kurt, it was to send him to spy on the Dalton Academy 'Garglers'. Now it seemed, at least to Finn, that Puck was feeling either protective or guilty, or maybe even both.

Artie and Mike had told Finn about Puck; that he was prowling the hallways of McKinley, looking for any jock wielding a slushie or looming over any geek of any kind – even Jewfro. It had been a long time since Puck had bullied anyone (except for Jewfro, but the annoying jerk usually had it coming), and even longer since he'd done anything to Kurt. The way Finn saw it, Puck was trying to make up for everything now, to be as different from the jocks that harassed Kurt as he could possibly be. Finn was cool with that. In fact, it made him think that he and Puck could become close friends again – maybe.

"Yo, Finn, don't space out on me – how's Kurt?"

Finn felt his lips quirk into a smile. "He's okay. He's sleeping right now. Whatever Burt and Mercedes did last night . . . it helped. He's a lot calmer."

"Cool. Now, listen up. I was listening in on a few of the punks that didn't get expelled, and they were saying that Karofsky was totally in on it. They're sayin' it was _his _idea."

Finn blinked, staring blankly at the wall. "But Kurt . . . and the police haven't . . . everyone says it was all Azimio. I think it's bull, Puck. Everyone pretends to know stuff when something this big happens."

"Yeah, well, you tell me – who's really been gunning for Kurt lately, huh? It wasn't Azimio. Maybe it was all Karofsky's plan, and Azimio just went ahead and did it for him?"

Finn considered that for a moment. It was possible. But then, why wasn't Kurt saying anything? Maybe he didn't know? Ida had said that Karofsky had been there, that he'd stopped Azimio – but how had he known to come in the first place? Since no one was arresting him, Finn had been assuming that the asshole really hadn't had anything to do with this, but, then again, Karofsky was just such a _bastard._

"Look, just don't get into too much trouble, okay? Lay low, and we'll figure things out. The most important thing right now is to get Kurt better, and keep him safe."

"I get what you're saying. You take care of things over there, I'll keep my eyes and ears open."

Finn hung up, staring at his phone for a minute. He realized that all of those questions he had, that had been bothering him since he calmed own enough to think straight after the riot at school, could be answered by the boy passed out on the couch. The thing was that he really didn't know how to ask, and he really, really didn't want to either. The snippets he'd heard when Kurt had been giving his statement, they still made his skin crawl, prickling with goosebumps. Sometimes, when he couldn't help but try and imagine what it was like for Kurt to go through all of _that,_ his stomach would start twisting, and his fists would be clenching.

It sounded stupid, even to him, but he needed to know if all this raw, burning rage was being directed at the right people. Azimio for sure was the right target, but as much as he hated Azimio and knew he was to blame for this, he _couldn't _let go of Karofsky. If the bastard were standing in front of him right at that moment, he'd take him apart, no question. His fingers flexed as he thought about it – itching for vengeance on his almost-stepbrother's behalf, and maybe for Ida since she saved Kurt and had been hurt too.

_Wait. _He didn't have to ask Kurt, not right away. He could ask Ida first. His phone was dialling and up to his ear within the same second he had that thought, Ida's soft voice answering with a raspy, "Hello?"

Suddenly, Finn had no clue what to say. He didn't know this girl, not really, and maybe this was too much, too intense to ask about over the phone?

"Hey, uh, if it's all right, would you mind bring Kurt's stuff over today? I know I said not to, but, I'm pretty sure there's some scarves or something that he's missing and –"

Ida chuckled. "Okay, hang on." Her voice took on a distant quality as she likely held the phone away from her ear. "Mom? Would you mind if we swung by Kurt's after all?"

Finn could hear her mom say, 'Sure' or something like it, and then Ida was back. "Okay, we'll be there in ten minutes."

Finn thanked her and pushed the 'end call' button, wandering back out into the living room. Kurt was fast asleep, and he didn't want to wake him, but he also didn't want him waking up alone, maybe panicking. He made sure the cordless was within reach (another weird adjustment was seeing Kurt without his phone; Finn didn't know where he'd put it, and he was pretty sure Kurt hadn't turned it on for days – that's why Finn had suddenly become the secretary). Even though it felt a little stupid, he left a note saying he was just on the porch, talking with Ida, and Kurt could totally stay inside and sleep if he wanted to.

After adjusting the blankets and refilling Kurt's glass of water, Finn went to grab his coat and shoes. He shoved his cell phone into his pocket and tiptoed out of the house, settling himself comfortably on the front porch. He ended up shedding the coat though – it was pretty warm today, warmer than a fall day should be.

When Ida pulled up, Finn bounced down the stairs, ready to help her with her crutches.

"Hey – when are you getting rid of these?" he asked as he fished them out of the backseat for her.

"Another couple of days and we're through," she said with relief, taking them from him. "Thank you."

The car door slammed on the driver's side, and Finn glanced over the roof to smile at Ida's mother. "Hi Mrs. Callaghan." For the few minutes Finn had talked to her at the hospital last week, she'd seemed super nice, and the way she had taken Burt's hand and promised to help him ream the school board out for what happened? That was _awesome_.

"Hello, Finn," she said with an answering smile.

"Sorry for, uh, this," Finn spoke as he helped Ida up the steps. "I guess I just figured it's better to um, have his stuff. In case he wants it. And, he's sleeping right now, so if it's cool –"

"Finn, it's fine." Mrs. Callaghan grabbed a bag, which clearly had Kurt's things. "We'll sit out here – it's an Indian summer day, and I'd like to enjoy it while it lasts."

Ida was sitting comfortably on the porch chair while Finn sat next to her and her mom leaned against the porch rail. He abruptly knew how awkward this conversation would be in front of Ida's mom. _Maybe I should just forget it_ – it had been such a stupid, impulsive decision to call her in the first place.

"How're you doing, Finn?" Ida's mom asked.

Finn replied without thinking, "Kurt's a bit better but – oh, sorry. I'm . . . okay."

Ida let loose another quiet chuckle, and Mrs. Callaghan shook her head. "Ida's been filling my ears with Kurt all week and it's good to know that he's doing well. I'm just worried about the rest of you, too."

Finn looked into her kind eyes – he knew very little about Ida, and even less about her mom, but they were starting to turn up more and more often. Her mom had been exchanging many phone calls with Burt lately, which had him thinking she might be popping by as whatever they were doing to the school board kept going.

Finn relaxed, and tried to come up with the right words – he just _had _to know. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, keeping quiet before sucking it up and just saying whatever came into his head.

"Look, if you don't want to answer me on this, it's fine, I don't want to ask Kurt, 'cause, uh, well, it's hard to ask him anything – but I get that this is totally hard on you too."

Ida blinked but said nothing, and her mom braced her hands on the rail behind her, crossing her legs at the ankle. "Finn, slow down. What is it you're getting at here?"

He took in a deep breath. "It's about Karofsky." Ida's face fell and Finn instantly felt guilty. "Sorry, sorry –"

"No, no, go ahead. I'd rather you ask me than Kurt, I guess."

"Ida –"

"It's fine, mom."

Feeling positively awful now, Finn forged on ahead. "You, uh, you said that Karofsky was there, but I wanted to know if he –"

"He didn't hurt Kurt, or me, I swear. I would've said something. Why do you think he wasn't arrested?"

Finn sighed. "Yeah, I figured. But Karofsky, you haven't really seen –"

"I've been here long enough to have seen plenty," Ida interrupted, looking surprised at her own words. "Sorry, I didn't mean to . . . I watched him in the hallways. Him and Azimio. And no one ever . . ." She didn't finish, staring down at her lap. Finn had to look away.

"_Where were you? Why couldn't you see how bad it was hurting?"_

He didn't think he would ever forget a word of what Kurt said last night.

A hand ghosted lightning quick over his arm. "Mercedes told me that if it would have been anyone, it would've been Karofsky. But Finn, he stopped Azimio, he . . ." She trailed off, glancing at her mother. "It was weird – there was something strange about it. He and Kurt . . . I think you need to ask him at some point," she ended miserably. "Guess I'm not much help after all."

Finn was quick to grab her hand. "_Never _say that, okay? What you did? Man, that was just _beyond _awesome."

Ida tried to smile, but she didn't quite manage it. Finn squeezed her fingers and then let go, attempting to get his own thoughts in order. He slumped as he considered the fact that maybe Karofsky really hadn't had anything to do with it. "I still want to kill the bastard more than anything. I don't get why though – shouldn't I want Azimio dead?"

"Maybe it's because you know Azimio is going to get his just desserts?" Mrs. Callaghan offered, crossing her arms. "Personally, I wouldn't mind accidentally backing over the jackass with my car for what he did to my girl. But he's been caught, and I've been calling the D.A. – Burt and I both have been, actually – they're going to seek permission to try him as an adult, considering the fact that it was so clearly a hate crime against Kurt, and a serious assault on top of that. When it comes to this Karofsky kid –"

"He was just as bad, if not worse. And he's Azimio's best friend, how could he not –" Finn cut himself off with a frustrated noise. "It's not fair. Kurt, he's not coming back to school, and that bastard, once his suspension is up, _is._"

"You know that Kurt could tell you better than Ida what this boy had to do with all this," Mrs. Callaghan pointed out gently.

Finn looked up at the woman, rubbing his damp palms against his sweatpants-clad thighs. "Kurt, he's . . . um . . ."

"Ida told me about last night – second hand news from Mercedes." She moved to sit down in a chair directly across from Finn and Ida. Leaning in close to them she caught Finn's eyes and held his gaze. "But I don't think you're going to break him by asking. A large part of Kurt's breakdown might've been due to the fact that you're all talking around the issues, or talking about him when he's not there to clarify anything for you. Maybe the topics you're afraid to broach are what he needs to be discussing. Don't be afraid. You're his friend – if he tells you to stop, or that he can't talk, you listen to him. But if he doesn't . . . trust your instincts."

Ida cleared her throat. "Listen Finn, I saw some of what Azimio was doing and," her voice cracked there, but she kept going, "if I hadn't been talking about with my mom this past while . . . Mercedes has been e-mailing me, and that's helped a lot too. I know that Kurt's different, that he's stubborn and strong in ways that I'm not, and he may not need you all breathing down his neck. But I don't think that means he wants you guys to leave him alone entirely. After all, isn't that what he's been doing all this time – going it alone?"

_"You're all suddenly here every day, talking with me like you've known me all your life, like you really care, but why couldn't you have cared earlier! Why couldn't you have stopped this before Azimio did this to me!"_

Finn winced. "Yeah . . . I really wish I knew _exactly _what I was doing, you know?"

Ida's mom chuckled. "Oh Finn, trust me when I tell you that you'll be thinking that for all of your life, in any given situation."

Finn felt a lot of his discomfort and concern ease in the wake of that light laughter. He and Ida grinned at each other and it was a great moment for Kurt to walk out onto the porch, wrapped in his dark blue robe, looking a little lost, but with a smile in reply to all of their own.

"Hey Kurt." Ida gave a little wave. "You look positively smashing, I have to say."

Kurt spared a look for his clothes, tugging his robe closer to his body. "Yes, definitely a trend-setter in this outfit – the cover of 'Slovenly Monthly' is mine."

Finn had to smile even wider at that, and Ida giggled, glancing at her mother with a tilt of the head towards Kurt. Mrs. Callaghan stretched out a hand. "We didn't get a chance to meet at the hospital, Kurt. I'm Ida's mom, Mona Callaghan."

"I realize. You have the same lovely complexion." Kurt shook her hand, his own skin stark against her more peach-like tone. "Ida told me she had no concept of moisturizing or facial cleanses – and look, not a single blemish, sun spot, anything. I see now it's a genetic trait. I'm insanely jealous."

Mrs. Callaghan burst out laughing, and she was even blushing a little. "Oh, Kurt, your father and Ida both told me about you, but let me tell you – the stories don't live up to the reality."

Kurt shrugged. "Tales of my general 'divatude' are greatly . . . understated."

Finn snorted at this, and Ida looked like she holding back another round of giggles. He shot her a side-glance; Finn hadn't quite figured out Ida yet.

His first impression had been of someone small and shy, and he'd thought she had a crush on Kurt. After getting to her know for a couple of days, she seemed more than okay with Kurt's sexuality, so the only thing he could think of now was that she might have a case of hero worship. Kurt was cool and all, but with all the slushies that had been thrown in his face over the years, and the dumpsters tosses (every single one of those memories made him feel sick to his stomach), he didn't think anyone else would ever see Kurt as cool because of all that. But Ida did. And did it make him a jerk if he didn't quite see how she saw Kurt?

Finn saw Kurt as awesome and different – but now (and he hated himself for it) the label 'victim' was all too easy to slap on over all that. He was trying hard to not see it that way, but Kurt was standing before him in a robe, all quiet and a pale imitation of his old self.

"We brought everything from your locker," Ida was explaining. "It's all here. I was kind of tempted to steal that dark purple sweater, the one with the sequins on the –"

"It's yours, if you truly want it," Kurt interrupted, smiling that little half-smile that Finn hated – it was like Kurt had given up, or something and it just didn't suit him _at all._ "With your skin and hair? It'll look far better on you than me."

"Kurt . . ." Ida's jaw dropped for a moment. It seemed to take her some time to find her voice after that. "Kurt, I was just kidding, you don't have to –"

"Listen, girl-who-saved-my-life – I think your title speaks for itself, doesn't it?" And the smile grew there. "Ida, a lot of that stuff is last season, or back-up in case of slushie or dumpster. I won't need it anymore. Honestly, wear it proudly. Without me at McKinley, there will likely be a dramatic decrease in style and flair. Carry on my tradition."

It was funny . . . and it wasn't. Finn sighed, feeling his lips tug downwards; Ida didn't even try for a smile and her mother reached out to put a hand on Kurt's shoulder. He watched as Kurt frowned, glancing at all their faces, and Finn could see Kurt not quite understanding their reactions. He suddenly found himself not wanting his suspension to end – because going back to McKinley, without Kurt, with everything that had happened, was going to _suck_. Kurt seemed to shake off his confusion after a few seconds. "Right. I'm going to head back inside. Mrs. Callaghan, Ida, do either of you want something to drink?"

"No, Kurt, sweetheart, you go on in and rest. We're the ones interrupting you here," Mrs. Callaghan was quick to respond.

Ida nodded. "Yeah, Kurt and um, thank you for the sweater."

Kurt was now looking distinctly embarrassed, and it was Finn's turn not to understand why. He puzzled over it as Kurt waved good-bye to them, waiting for the car to pull out before turning and disappearing back into the house without even looking once towards Finn. He blinked and followed after a lengthy pause.

Kurt sat on the couch, wrapped in blankets again. He shot Finn a side look before laying down once more, facing the back of the couch and shutting his eyes.

Finn stood at a distance, shuffling his weight between his feet, watching as Kurt's breathing slowed into a deep and regular rhythm again.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced down to see a text from Tina asking if they were all still welcome on Sunday. Finn sent back a message saying he was pretty sure it was cool, but he'd ask Burt and Kurt later tonight and let them know. Two seconds after that it was a text from Blaine: _Hey, Mercedes gave me your number, I hope that's okay. Just wanted to check in and find out how Kurt was doing. Let him know that I'm thinking of him. Would it be all right if I came by tomorrow or Sunday?_

Finn smiled. He liked Blaine. It was kind of interesting to watch Blaine interact with his almost-brother – the preppy boy acted all cool and friendly sometimes, warm and compassionate more often, all with a careful sort of a distance, but Finn was pretty familiar with looks of longing by now. Finn's near-constant observing of all things related to Kurt, coupled with his own long days of pining for Rachel, made it pretty easy to guess that Blaine was entering crush-zone. It was awesome, because Kurt totally deserved to have someone as nice and cool as Blaine liking him, even if Kurt didn't like Blaine back (well, he _liked _him, obviously, but if he _like-_liked him, Finn couldn't tell).

He texted back, _Sunday. I gotta ask Burt, but everyone might be coming over, so you should too. Let you know soon._

After that, he went into the kitchen, dialling for pizza, using the money Burt had left behind by the phone. Burt had also written down the only combination of cheeses and toppings that Kurt would eat, which Finn read off to the operator on the other end, followed by a second pizza – Meat Lovers. He headed back into the living room, settling into his previous position, and flicking the TV back on, quick with the mute button so Kurt wouldn't be disturbed.

He channel-surfed for a time, stopping on a few sports channels, taking in the scores for everything from baseball to squash (which utterly confused him, because: vegetable? A sport named after a vegetable? What was up with that?). He landed on the news, reading the captions provided, only vaguely interested in Mrs. Sullivan's twentieth grandchild having been born, but then it switched over to the headline story – and that was McKinley in the background.

Finn sat up, staring hard, tempted to unmute it, but he definitely did not want Kurt to wake up to _this. _He read the closed captioning, his stomach swooping lowly.

_While Principal Figgins has continued to be mum on the subject of the alleged assault that took place only a week ago, changes to school policy are already being discussed board-wide. Both the victim and the accused are minors, and thus cannot be named, but we have received reports from several credible sources that the alleged assaulter may be tried as an adult, and that the student attacked will no longer be attending William McKinley High School. Back to you, Rod._

"Goddamnit!" someone hissed, causing Finn to jump.

It was his mom, standing right behind him, scowling at the TV as if it was her number one enemy in the entire world. Finn parted his lips to ask what the hell was going on when Kurt made a soft noise, eyes blinking open. Faster than Finn thought he could move, he went up one channel and then shut off the TV. By this point Kurt was sitting up, rubbing at his eyes, and then glancing up at them both. "Hi. So, was the shopping trip successful? Because this couch has had far too many people sleeping on it lately – its comfort levels have dropped significantly."

Finn hung back as Kurt chatted with their parents about the shopping trip, trying to catch his mother's eye. She glanced over at him once, shook her head slightly, and jumped right back into the conversation.

Much later, he and Burt had struggled with putting the old couch out on the curb, and bringing in the new one (which looked infinitely more comfortable – good news for Finn). Burt agreed that it was fine for their friends to come over on Sunday, so Finn sent out a mass text confirming that for everyone. Soon after, Kurt was down in the basement, apparently fast asleep, though Burt went downstairs to check for himself. It was something he did quite often, the 'just checking' thing. Finn didn't blame him. When it was just him and Kurt, he didn't like being too far from him either – like somehow, something else, something more could happen if he wasn't close by.

"Mom?" Finn sat at the kitchen table, watching her put the last few plates in the dishwasher. "Mom, what was with the news story?"

She slammed the dishwasher shut hard, turning dials and flicking it on before facing him. She looked tired, both she and Burt did, all the time.

"It's nothing that you should be too concerned over. They can't mention names because both Kurt and that . . . boy are under-aged. I've been doing everything I can to make sure they understand that there's a lawsuit waiting for them if there's anything said that shouldn't be. But . . ." She bit her lip, wringing her hands a little. She came over, sitting down next to him, turning the chair to face him. "Finn, this is starting to get a lot of attention – people talk, you know that. But I'm doing my damndest – Burt's getting busy talking with lawyers about dealing with the school board, and keeping an eye on that boy's trial, so I've been taking over everything else and making sure the reporters and news people don't get too out of hand. You've been pretty much cooped up here in the house, but if anyone you don't know tries to call and ask questions, or if anyone comes to do the door, you let me know, okay?"

Finn felt a bit overwhelmed by this – reporters and news' crews asking about Kurt? About Azimio? Then again, when he really thought about it, how could they _not _know who it was? Lima wasn't tiny, but it definitely wasn't big either. Kurt stood out, and now that he wasn't in school, even the kids that hadn't been there that day had to know about it, and their parents had to know about it. How long could this stay under wraps?

"Finn, even if some of them figure out that it was Kurt that was, they still can't say anything, because Kurt's under-aged, all right? And soon this will all blow over. Unfortunately, tragedies like these can be a dime a dozen," she said with a bitter smile coupled with a hand resting on his thigh.

Finn hated that she was right, that what happened to Kurt wouldn't be big news after a few weeks, because who cared about another kid being beaten up for being different? Didn't that happen just about every day, sometimes with no one finding out about it? His hands clenched into fists on his lap, the overpowering urge to hit someone – _Karofsky _– surging up in him again, but he swallowed hard and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. He managed a nod and half smile for his mom; she brushed a kiss against his temple before standing up and heading towards her bedroom.

They had already unfolded the bed from the couch, and put sheets and blankets on it for him. Finn stood contemplating it for a moment before collapsing face first onto it. It creaked a little as he found a good position, but yes, this was pretty freaking comfy.

He was half-asleep, dozing, when he heard a small clattering in the kitchen. He jumped up, tangled in his blankets, nearly falling to the floor. The light in the kitchen came on, just bright enough to cast a soft glow on him.

"Finn?"

"Kurt?" Finn shoved the blankets off, squinting towards the bright kitchen to see the other boy standing there, holding a glass of milk in his hands. Kurt was shaking a little, and there was redness to his eyes. Despite the drowsiness weighing down his limbs and mind, Finn managed to put the clues together, his voice soft as he asked, "Nightmare?"

Kurt didn't respond, but Finn didn't need him to – he was sure that was what was going on. He sat up, patting the bed next to him. Kurt stood unmoving for a while before taking slow steps and sitting gingerly on the edge of the mattress. Finn said nothing as Kurt finished off his milk, putting the glass on the couch-side table. He sat there, hands folded in his lap, though Finn could pick out the fine trembling in his fingers.

The silence stretched for untold minutes but Finn was okay with it. He wanted Kurt to be the one to say something first, and his wish was granted when he explained, very quietly, "You know I get them every time I close my eyes, but tonight it was like I was _there _again and it took me . . . a while, once I woke up, to remember that I wasn't. In the dark, alone . . . I had to remember that I wasn't dead, he hadn't killed me – I hadn't gone and left my father alone."

Finn couldn't quite make out his facial expression, but that shivering was back. He'd heard Burt talk about the fact that no matter how many blankets or how high the temperature in the house, sometimes Kurt would shiver and get cold, even though the doctors said that the hypothermia had passed. His heart hurting, his eyes closing, Finn had to force down unexpected tears because this was all so _wrong. _Kurt was like this ghost of himself, and sometimes he was clearer and present, but other times it was like you could look through him because he was barely there; Finn would have to squint to see anything that reminded him of the boy that could flounce out of a room even in a _wheelchair, _or demand that jocks pound him into paste because '_I'm proud to be different, it's the best thing about me'._

He grabbed an extra blanket that he wasn't using (because the house was a few degrees warmer than usual), and wrapped it gently around Kurt's shoulders. Kurt hardly flinched at the gesture, for which Finn was grateful, but he did tug the blanket in closer around him, the shuddering in his limbs a lot more apparent.

Even though he had _no freaking idea_ what to say, Finn started talking, low and hopefully comforting. "It's going to be a long time before you stop having nightmares about this. It's . . . you're doing great, I think. I mean, you're dealing with it better than anyone we know would, and I'm including myself in that."

"But it wouldn't happen to anyone we know," Kurt disagreed and Finn could see the thin, weak smile that he was growing to hate. "Because no one we know is me – is loud, and so _noticeable _and _gay._"

Finn barely resisted the urge to punch Kurt in the shoulder like he would any of his other male friends – like he'd lightly done to _Kurt _on occasion before this whole mess – to make them stop thinking such stupid things. "Dude, _hell yes _this could have happened to anyone we know. Those assholes picked on you a hell of a lot, and I'm sorry we didn't stop them, I'm so sorry." Finn could hear the tears warping his voice again, but he swallowed hard and kept going. "But you weren't the only one they were brutal to – the crap they've done to me in the locker room alone, like when they held me down and drew on my face, snapped at me with towels. Look at _Mercedes, _she's your best friend, and she can be loud and _noticeable _too, and we know some of these douchebags don't give a crap that she's a girl. You told me how they actually _shoved _Tina. Rachel is louder than you, and uh, I know she's my girlfriend, but she can be obnoxious and definitely _noticeable. _And Artie, holy crap, the things they've done to him . . . Anything, or _anyone _of us could've set them off. It's _not _on you, dude, what happened – it's on _them._"

Kurt didn't say anything for another long while. He turned to Finn eventually, tilting his head. "Why do you keep saying _'them'_? It was only Azimio who did this, Finn. Only him."

Finn inhaled deeply. "I know. You keep saying so. But every single asshole that's ever pushed you, called you names – I blame them all so damn hard, Kurt. I'm so Goddamned angry at _all _of them, and Karofsky –"

Kurt tensed noticeably. Finn could not let that go. "See – even saying his name. I know you said he didn't do anything, and that he even stopped Azimio from . . . but it's _Karofsky. _He was doing crap to you like . . . it's just, _are you sure_?"

It probably wasn't the best time or way to phrase the question, but Finn _had to know._

Kurt adjusted his blanket as he answered, lifting a leg onto the bed so he could face Finn directly. "Karofsky showed up a few minutes after Ida did, and he was clearly shocked by what was happening, and I remember him yelling at Azimio. I passed out before he left, but Ida was there and she called an ambulance with a phone _he _handed to her. So . . ." Kurt dropped his eyes. "This time, it wasn't him. He had nothing to do with it."

For whatever reason, that didn't make a dent in Finn's anger against the other boy. Watching Kurt fall to pieces last night, cry and ream them out for not noticing before, for not _stopping _all the abuse before it got to this point, it all stoked the rage in Finn; he had clung to that wrath as a lifeline, and it wanted nothing more than to pound Karofsky into the dirt. It was like a light came on and Finn saw everything that the asshole had ever done – all the stuff Finn had filed under 'normal' – and then he saw Kurt, spunky, witty, ultra-gay-in-the-cool-way Kurt, crumpled against lockers, flinching at every loud sound, wincing and not able to carry his bag on bruised shoulders.

"He's been way more into hurting you, is all," Finn said tiredly, frustration lining his tone. "He's been the biggest asshole at school, and I guess a part of me _wanted _him to be in on this because then we could totally put his ass behind bars." Ida's mother had been right. "It's sick how he's so obsessed with keeping you down, Kurt."

There was a flinch. It was slight, hidden amongst the trembling, but Finn was getting really good at noticing these small things. He scooted in a little, eying Kurt closely. "Is there something else? Um, something more you wanna talk about?"

Kurt looked him straight in the eyes, shrugging. "Not really. The nightmares, they . . ." He wrapped himself up further in the blanket, to the point where it looked like he was in a cocoon. "After Ida comes to visit, they tend to be . . . more vivid. It's not her fault, but it's like she triggers it."

Finn nodded. "That makes sense. You met her during all that. She saved your life, but she also reminds you of it too. It kinda sucks, but do you want me to tell her to stay away for a while?"

"No, no, it's fine," Kurt said in a rush. "I'm just thinking out loud. The dreams are the worst, but sending Ida away isn't something I want to do – not to her. I'm willing to give it time."

"What about . . ." Finn didn't quite know how to ask this, understanding how resistant Kurt was to the idea. "What about that therapy thing, your dad was asking you about?"

The other boy tensed noticeably. "I'm not interested."

"I know you aren't, but c'mon, Kurt – people go to see therapists when, like, their hamster dies or when they lose their jobs, and this is way more . . ." Finn didn't want to use the word _traumatic, _partially because he wasn't entirely sure it was the correct term, but mostly because he didn't want it to apply to Kurt. But he did want Kurt to get any and all help he needed, so he pushed, remembering Mrs. Callaghan's words: _"Don't be afraid. You're his friend – if he tells you to stop, or that he can't talk, you listen to him. But if he doesn't . . . trust your instincts."_

"I think you should at least try it," Finn said, keeping his tone casual. "It'd be worth it if only to get you sleeping better, and hey, it'll make your dad happy. Or at least, he won't be as crazy worried as he is now, if he thinks you're getting help."

That was a little manipulative, he knew, but he knew enough about Kurt to know that his dad was his one weak spot, and that he hated being seen as vulnerable, which is all they saw him as nowadays. Finn wanted the old Kurt back – the sassy, unafraid, sometimes sort of mean, diva.

Kurt seemed to be thinking about it, and that satisfied Finn. "Whatever you want to do, man, it's fine. Do you think you're okay to get back to sleep now?"

The other boy nodded, a hand poking out from his nest of blankets, followed by the other, as he braced himself on the bed, standing up slowly. Finn settled down on his pile of pillows, but he wasn't ready to let Kurt go just yet. "If you have another nightmare, come on back up, dude. We can stay up watching a movie. I think there's a Bond marathon on all night. We can do that now if –"

Kurt was shaking his head, but his smile was sweet and real. "No thanks. Do you have any idea what a late night watching TV does for the bags under your eyes?"

Finn shrugged. "Okay, but don't you have, like, make-up or something to cover that up?"

Kurt gave him an exasperated look. "I don't wear make-up, Finn. At most, and only when absolutely necessary, I wear _cover-up_."

Finn failed to see the difference, but he nodded as if he understood. "Okay, well, whatever – point being, I'm here if you need me."

That small smile was back. "And I appreciate it. So, you go back to sleep, and, um, if you could just not mention this to my dad? He already knows that I still have nightmares, but he doesn't need to be informed every single time I have one."

Kurt ran his tongue along dry lips, his expression pleading, and Finn was already nodding. "No problem, Kurt."

He waited until the lights were off, and Kurt was long gone before he closed his eyes and let himself drift back to sleep.

He woke up abruptly, darkness still looming, an unknown amount of time later. Finn lunged into a sitting position, his skin tingling as his hair stood on end – he'd dreamed . . . _something, _though he didn't know what. He wasn't having nightmares, but his brain was definitely having a tough time figuring all this stuff out. This wasn't the first time he'd randomly woken up in the middle of the night.

He was turning on his side when he froze, hearing a soft noise, some rustling of . . . blankets? Pillows?

Squinting in the darkness, Finn could make out a lump on the love seat off to this right, a shape that hadn't been there before. He sat up again, slowly, silently, narrowing his eyes further. Another sleepy noise, familiar, and Finn's eyes finally recognized Kurt, huddled under four or five blankets, curled up – too long for the smaller couch, but he seemed relatively peaceful. He watched as Kurt turned over, mumbling a little, but then quieted, a hand falling to brush against the floor. Finn kept watching him for a few more minutes, and once he was sure that he wasn't having another nightmare, he lay down on his side. At the last second, before sleep could take him again, he grabbed his cell-phone off the couch-side table. He set the alarm for six – Burt was usually up by six thirty, even on Saturdays when the garage didn't open until ten or when he didn't have to go to work at all. If Finn woke up first, he could get Kurt downstairs, and no one would know about the nightmares from tonight.

Burt would probably find out anyways – he was paying crazy amounts of attention to every little thing Kurt did, but Finn knew Kurt would feel better if the other boy felt he wasn't worrying Burt anymore than he already was. Finn could lend a hand with that, as long as Kurt wasn't hiding anything too serious. He figured he could be the almost-stepbrother he already saw himself as by listening to Kurt, by soothing nightmares and trying to get him to see a therapist or something – by making him feel safe. It was the least he could do since he'd been such utter fail at helping him as friend, when it had really mattered.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"You have to aim! _Aim!_"

"Shut up, Finn, I know_ – holy crap!_"

"Cover! Duck under cover!"

"I _know, _Hudson_, _shut the hell_ – damnit, damnit!_"

"Okay, you two need to cool it – it sounds like a battleground in here!" His mom walked in, and Finn flicked his eyes from the screen just long enough to take in the hands on her hips and the flicker of amusement and relief on her face. They weren't in any real trouble.

Kurt was blowing the crap out of people on the screen, something he'd sworn he would never find fun. Finn had the feeling that most of this had to with his getting Kurt into his own bed before his father realized anything. This crazy six-hour marathon of video gaming was probably his way of thanking of Finn for not mentioning anything to either of their parents.

But there was no way he was faking the crazed energy with which he was hammering those buttons, or that intense look in his eyes, normally reserved for scrutinizing his closet when selecting an outfit.

A couple of hours after his initial wake-up call to smuggle Kurt back down to the basement, Finn had been woken up again by noise in the kitchen, this time by a fresh-faced Kurt who helped him fold the bed back into the couch. The video gaming came after a small breakfast – well, small for Finn since Kurt's breakfast normally wasn't much more than a bowl of granola with dried fruits and milk, and Finn had eagerly agreed to sharing when Kurt asked if he could try out the Xbox.

He'd picked _Mass Effect _because he figured Kurt would appreciate the utter coolness of being able to design his own character, physically speaking (even though the armour wasn't much to look at and there were no clothes of any kind to choose from), pick his own back-story, and the fact that the plot was crazy good and detailed.

While Kurt was surprised and pleased by these things, he also seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the 'shoot the crap out of the bad guys' part too.

The front door opened not ten minutes later, Burt calling out, "I'm home! I brought ice cream for dessert – and I won't be having any, Kurt, before you can . . . geez, are you two _still _plugged into that game?"

Kurt paused his battle, and both he and Finn turned to smile at Burt. Finn could see the man staring, eyebrows raised high on his forehead, but soon he was grinning at Kurt, eyes crinkling at the corners. It was easy to see why: Kurt was flushed, bright eyed, and there were no blankets in sight. He was dressed in clothes a little more like himself – tight designer jeans, a weird-patterned shirt with a thin, button-up sweater on top – and more importantly, he was smiling wide and true. Finn felt distinctly proud of himself and had to fight the urge to ruffle Kurt's hair; the boy had also actually taken the time to style it with something close to his usual effort. It was perfect and off his forehead, and Finn had a feeling that if he put a hand anywhere near that, he wouldn't be getting it back in one piece.

"Dad, I'm in the middle of taking out a band of alien mercenaries. As soon as I'm done, I'll help Carole with dinner and we shall discuss you having maybe _one _scoop of ice cream for dessert."

Burt rolled his eyes at Finn. "Listen to him talk as if he can determine what I eat and when I eat it."

"It's what I've been doing for more than a month – your argument would have more weight if you didn't take my orders, which incidentally, happen to also be your _doctor's _orders."

Kurt resumed shooting the hell out of the mercenaries and Finn was shrugging at Burt while holding back an amused grin – unsuccessfully. Burt grinned too and took his bag of ice cream to the kitchen. There were loud smacking sounds that drifted out from there not long after, and both Finn and Kurt exchanged vaguely disgusted looks. Finn was about to tell their parents to take it behind closed doors when the phone rang, interrupting everybody. His mom answered it right after the first ring.

"Hello? Oh, hey Rachel, did you want me to – oh?"

Finn had perked up at his girlfriend's name. She hadn't mentioned when she would be dropping by today, only that she would be. Why hadn't she texted or called him on his phone, though?

"Hold on a second, honey, I'm going to pass you to Burt, okay?"

Finn stopped pretending to be uninterested, and Kurt had paused the game again, craning his neck a bit to see Burt and Finn's mom standing close together as Burt listened to Rachel on the other end of the phone. His mouth was pressed into a stern line, and his brows were close together, but he was nodding along and saying, "Uh huh. We've considered it, yeah . . . okay, in that case, we'll see you all in about an hour and a half? . . . Right, did you want to talk to Finn?"

Finn stood up, walking with his hand outstretched for the phone. Burt held up his own free hand, shaking his head. "You'll talk to him when you get here. Right, that's fine, Rachel. Yeah, see you soon."

He pouted a little and was about to complain when Kurt called, "Finn, your phone is buzzing!"

Finn walked over and sat back down next to Kurt, checking his cell and seeing a message from Rachel: _Sorry, been busy with my dads today but I'll see you soon! xoxoXO_

He smiled happily to himself, and then almost jumped clean off the couch as Kurt let loose a victory shout. "I am ridiculously good at this! Finn, witness my talent, please."

Finn chuckled to himself, but resumed paying attention to Kurt's on-going saga, texting the other gleeks (as well as Blaine and Ida) randomly, giving them a much happier update on Kurt's state of mind.

Of course, things got tense again when the Berrys arrived. Somehow, everyone sensed this wasn't a simple dinner get-together, and despite the smiles and introductions going around, Finn could see Kurt closing in on himself again, becoming the phantom, insubstantial and soundless. He moved in closer to Kurt, trying to be a kind of silent support. He wasn't sure if it was working, if Kurt even noticed, but Finn stuck close to him, even with Rachel smiling brightly at him from between her two dads.

Rachel's dads were pretty cool – a tall black man that had a soft, kind smile, and a shorter white dude with glasses and a funny laugh – and both of them had been nice about Finn dating their daughter. Okay, Charles Berry had threatened him while cleaning his gardening sheers, but Finn couldn't fault the man for that.

"It's an honour to meet you, Mr. Hummel, Mrs. Hudson," Jacob Berry was saying, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "You have no idea how much Rachel natters on about Kurt – if it weren't for the fact that he were gay, we would've been sure that he'd be our future son-in-law."

Kurt and Rachel both blushed and then laughed when they caught sight of each other's red faces. Rachel bounced over to Kurt after that, grabbing his hand in one of her own small, olive-toned ones. "Can we talk alone?"

Finn watched as Kurt darted a look towards his dad, who was leading Rachel's dads towards the kitchen, and then back to Rachel.

"Can 'alone' include Finn? I've sort of gotten used to having my own personal Frankenteen following me around." Kurt flicked a small smile up at him as he spoke. Finn had never felt more like a big brother and he was totally unembarrassed to admit to himself that he kind of loved it. He ducked his head, grinning as Rachel giggled and lead the way to the basement.

Once they got there, Rachel and Kurt sat down on the couch together, while Finn grabbed a chair and lifted it over to them (Kurt had shot him a glare so lethal the last time he'd dragged it across the carpet, Finn had never attempted it again) so he could sit closer to the conversation. It was quiet for a minute, and then Rachel cleared her throat, sitting up straighter.

"I've been waiting all week for an opportunity to speak with you, but then everyone was here, all the time, and it . . . it wasn't something I wanted to discuss with the others around. I wanted it to be between you and me. Finn is an acceptable exception." She flashed him the warm, lovely smile that always made him feel like he could take on the world. Finn smiled back, widely and happily, but stayed quiet. He wanted Rachel to have her time with Kurt without him getting in the middle.

As Rachel spoke, Kurt nodded. "You're not the only one. I get the feeling Mercedes has been waiting to get me alone too, but then on Thursday . . ." Kurt trailed off, sighing softly. "I feel like I should apologize – and not just to you two. I shouldn't have lashed out at all of you like that –"

"No, no Kurt!" Rachel said firmly. "You were perfectly right. I wanted to tell you, first and foremost, that _I am sorry_. I'm sorry for not paying enough attention to what was happening to you. I'm sorry for not reaching out and being a better friend to you, especially considering my background." Her cheeks took on a pink flush, and she continued on, quieter than before. "My dads came to offer something to you and your dad today, to help you both out. I never . . . I never mentioned you having trouble . . . Papa made me feel really ashamed for that. We all know how amazing your dad is, Kurt, especially after he came into the school to make sure you had the opportunity to audition against me for _'Defying Gravity'_. I assumed that you were fine, that with your dad you could handle anything, and that if there was anything wrong you would tell him, or Mercedes or any of us."

"It's not your fault that I'm stubborn about telling people things, Rachel," Kurt said in an almost whisper, drawing his knees up to his chest, looking away. "It's not your fault I didn't complain to the faculty or . . ."

"That doesn't matter!" she burst out. "Because they _know, _they had to _know _how bad it was getting. They saw it happening and they're the grown-ups, they should have taken some action! As much as I appreciate him, Mr. Schuester should have done something the instant he saw you getting tossed into a dumpster or thrown against a locker._"_

She inhaled sharply, eyes gleaming. "I never once let it cross my mind that it was getting worse, because everyone around you, including me, acted like what you were going through was acceptable. And it _wasn't_ Kurt, you're right. The same words they hissed at you in those hallways? They've been following me my whole life because of who my dads are. Because I'm lucky enough to have two parents that worked hard to get me, to love me, and spoil me – somehow I'm warped, twisted, because of it. I should have reached out to you because _of course things we're going wrong. _Of course you were going through the same things I was, if not worse, since somehow people seem to think that it's less violent or offensive to hit and insult boys rather than girls. I'm sorry, Kurt, I'm so, so sorry for being so selfish!"

Tears were escaping her brown eyes, and Kurt reached out and pulled her close, hugging her as his own shoulders shook. Finn had to hold back on hugging them both, on cradling his girlfriend to his chest, because it _wasn't fair _that two of the best people he knew had to go through so much crap because they were different in ways that they couldn't control.

Eventually they pulled away, Rachel looking slightly more composed, while Kurt looked fragile and shaky. Finn immediately reached for a blanket from one of the piles that seemed to be everywhere in the house lately, and tossed it over Kurt's legs. Kurt pulled it up higher, smiling wanly at him.

Rachel took in a deep breath and both Finn and Kurt turned to her again. "The day that everything happened, after that huge fight in the hall – I was so scared, Kurt, I called my dads, so they could take me to the hospital but . . ." Rachel moved in closer, biting her lip once. "My dads made me come home – they were scared. If you were hurt, the daughter of two gay men might be a target too. I'd never seen them that frightened. Ever. So I stayed home with them. But I really wanted to be at the hospital with you."

"Why do your dads even live here, Rachel?" Kurt breathed out as he pulled his blanket up even higher. "This town –"

"Because it's not . . . Even though I want to get out of here, it's a decent place, Lima, I mean, aside from the hellhole that is McKinley. I'm not afraid to walk outside at night, and not all our neighbours may be thrilled about it, but they don't act like they care that there are two gay men living next door – well, there was this woman, down the street, who tried to start something, but my dads told her flat out that if she said or did anything, they would call their lawyers and shut her up legally. There's homophobic people everywhere Kurt, even in the cities. We live here because it's a safe town, and daddy, he grew up here, so we have family nearby."

Kurt said nothing in reply to that, going silent again before asking, "You said your dads had something for me?"

Rachel nodded. "They wanted to let you know that their contacts at the ACLU are perfectly willing to open up a lawsuit on your behalf against the school board and Figgins. What happened to you was a direct result of their gross negligence and it is very likely that you would win if you decided to take such action."

Finn couldn't really tell what Kurt was thinking, but he could see that he was feeling tired again – and not the type of tired that meant he was getting sleepy. No, this was a completely different sort of exhaustion. His eyes would kind of go more grey than blue/green/grey, and then he'd sort of lose focus, his mouth tightening as if he was angry.

He knew Kurt just wanted all of this to be _over, _and a lawsuit could drag on for months and months, if not _years_.

"I think your dad is interested in doing this. My dads are talking to him and Carole right now. I asked them if I could tell you while they talk to them because, well, I just wanted to make it clear to you that I am behind you one hundred percent, whatever you decide, and I'll defend your choice, to your family, to _my _family. Whatever you need from me, Kurt, I'm _there._"

Kurt nodded slowly, still real quiet, his eyes doing that shining thing which meant that he was trying not to cry. Finn was just opening his mouth to throw in his own two cents when the doorbell rang, causing all three of them to jump or flinch. Finn stood up, putting a staying hand on Kurt's trembling shoulders. "Don't worry, dude, I'm sure mom or Burt are going to get it."

A few seconds later, the basement door was opening, and Burt was calling down, "Kurt? Could you stand another visitor, kiddo?"

Wiping at his face with the corner of his blanket, Kurt cleared his throat, before calling up, "Sure, dad."

Finn was not expecting Puck to come thundering down the stairs, looking wild and nervous and freaked all at once. When his eyes fell on Kurt, he seemed to pull himself together, and nod his direction. "What's up, dude? You, um, you feeling better?"

Kurt smiled faintly, seemingly amused. "Sure, Puck. A little better. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Puck's eyes darted over to Finn. "I just, I had something really important I needed to tell Finn – like, _really, really _important. Would it be cool if we went outside for a minute?"

He was bouncing on the balls of his feet and Kurt blinked, exchanging confused looks with Rachel, and then glancing over at Finn who was feeling pretty lost himself. "If you want to, go ahead, Rachel and I are fine down here."

Puck exhaled loudly. "Awesome. Finn, move your ass, man." He turned and took the stairs up two at a time.

Finn raced up the stairs after him, waving briefly at Burt, his mom, and the Berrys, who were now sitting in the living room. "Just going outside to talk for a bit!" He then followed Puck out onto the porch, wondering out loud, "Dude! What is your malfunction?"

Puck's eyes were wide again and he was back to seeming both confused and panicked, the most out of control Finn had ever seen him.

"I went after Karofsky."

Finn balked, his own eyes widening painfully. "Oh no. Puck, man, tell me I don't have to –"

"Nah, I didn't lay a hand on him – uh, at least nothing too bad." Puck waved off Finn's concern. Finn relaxed a little, relieved to know he wouldn't have to help Puck bury a body, or provide an alibi. "I don't want to end up back in jail. No, I just wanted to shake him up a little, give him the lowdown on what would happen to him if he ever even thought about touching Kurt. And when he didn't bite, I went the _'I'll post all your deep, dark secrets on Jewfro's blog'_ route, because, well, everyone in this sorry-ass town has something to hide."

Finn was very familiar with this particular Puck tactic. It came from being a desperate housewives' gigolo; he knew far more about some of the more respectable members of this community than most. He was smart enough to keep quiet about it, because he wasn't into that kind of trouble, or at least that's what he said – Finn sometimes thought Puck had more of a conscience than he let on.

"Dude, the guy went _ballistic! _He flipped out, kept saying he was going to kill Kurt if he found out the runt had said anything."

Finn flinched, because that was a little too close to home, and _wow_, maybe it would have better if Puck had risked jail and roughed up the asshole.

"So, I tell him that Kurt didn't tell me anything – I found out on my own, or something. I mean, I had no clue what the hell the guy was talkin' about so I tried to get him to spill." Puck looked over his shoulder to the darkened, empty street, and leaned in close. "Finn, Karofsky was about to _cry. _He begged me not to tell anyone, and I told him that I wouldn't tell as long as _he_ told _me_ what he's been doing to Kurt. I wanted to know, once and for all, if he had anything to do with what Azimio did."

Finn froze, unable to speak. _This is it_.

Puck breathed out, eyes widening further, voice cracking as he spoke, "_He didn't. _But man, it's so freaking . . . _he kissed Kurt._"

The world screeched to a halt.

Now Finn couldn't move for a whole different reason. He stared, mouth open, eyes blinking. There was _no way_. "I . . . you must've heard him wrong. There's no way that . . . why would he even _tell _you that?" His voice sounded far away and weak to his own ears.

"I'm _telling _you how." Puck ran a hand over his mohawk, pushing out air as if he had to remind himself to breathe. When he spoke next it made only a little more sense (but not really – _Karofsky kiss Kurt? How? Why? What the hell?_).

"It went down like this: he was practically blubbering, saying that he didn't do anything, that he'd just snapped, and I got pissed man. I thought that maybe he'd done something to Kurt that we didn't know about. I shoved Karofsky up against a wall, told him it was over – that he was through, that _I knew it all_ and I just wanted to hear him say it. He said that he'd only done it _once _and that it was a freaky, fluke thing, that he'd never wanted to _kiss _any guy . . ." Puck was rambling non-stop, wheezing and shocked. "I heard it loud and clear. And I let him go. Told him that he needed to stay away from Kurt, for good, or else I would spill it to everyone. But I don't even know what to do with this, man."

His knees felt like jelly – Finn collapsed against the porch railing, lifting a hand to wipe cold sweat from his brow. _Crap_. How could this be happening? How could Kurt – but then again, why would Kurt tell? If Karofsky was some sort of closeted (_Karofsky, _who the hell would have guessed?) creep . . . Was this why Karofsky had been so dead-set on throwing Kurt around lately? The thought occurred to Finn just as Puck leaned against the railing next to him. "It makes a weird sort of sense – I mean, Karofsky's been so focused on nailing Kurt –"

Finn squeaked out a noise and Puck winced. "Yeah, okay, bad choice of words. Um, yeah, I don't know when it happened, but . . . I mean, Finn, what do we do?" He was gripping the railing tightly, knuckles turning white.

There was nothing Finn could think of to say, because there was nothing he could think of to _do._

They sat there, in silence, until the front door opened and Kurt stuck his head out. "Hey, you two still talking? Dad says there's dinner. Puck, you can stay if you want."

"Uh, that's cool," Puck said, shoving his hands deep into his jeans' pocket. "But I should be getting home – Sabbath and all. Good to see you, Kurt."

Kurt smiled at Puck. "Are you coming by tomorrow with everyone else?"

Puck darted a look at Finn, his eyes full of a million unasked questions. "I think so. You okay with all us of coming? I think Sam's bringing the original _Tron_ over."

The boy shrugged. "Sounds good to me. See you tomorrow, Puck."

Puck gave Finn one last look before darting down the porch steps and disappearing. Kurt stood there, frowning. "Was everything okay with him? He seemed off."

Finn tried to come up with a believable excuse. "Yeah, man, he's just . . . worried about you. He was asking me a bunch of questions – I think he was going to tell everyone to back off and give you another couple of days." It was a half-truth, which was the only way Finn could lie about this and not give anything away. His brain was overloading, burning with the need to ask Kurt about Karofsky, but he held it in, though it hurt like hell to do it. _Seriously,_ _what the fucking hell?_

Kurt's eyes widened. "Wow, that's . . . wow. Puck? Really?"

Finn struggled to find more words, feeling both proud and surprised at how casual they sounded when he finally got them out. "Yeah, he's like Schuester's undersheriff at school. He's hardcore about keeping things from getting out of hand again, and protecting you, even though you're not coming back."

Kurt didn't seem like he knew what to do with this information, and Finn was just trying to not let his inner freak out lead to an _outer_ freak out. They both stood there, looking at each other, and Finn was opening his mouth to say who the hell knew what, when Burt called, "Dinner! C'mon you two, get inside!"

They ended up having a fairly easy-going dinner with Rachel's dads, and Finn tried to force his newfound, frightening perspective on Karofsky's bullying to the back of his mind.

It was when they were all having desert – some ice cream, a carrot cake the Berrys brought over, and a plate of fruits for Rachel (and Kurt, as he turned down a slice the cake, though he did have one scoop of ice cream, using the fruit as topping) – that Jacob Berry cleared his throat loudly, bringing silence to the table.

He leaned forward, looking at Kurt with serious eyes. "I know Rachel told you some of what we came to tell your dad, Kurt. I realize you've had very little time to absorb it all, so feel free to disregard this question, but do you have any idea which way you're leaning towards?"

Finn didn't think it was fair to ask Kurt this right now, but Burt wasn't saying anything, so he kept his mouth shut. He could see Kurt process the question, his expression becoming closed off. "I'll be honest, Mr. Berry, my first inclination is to say no."

Burt let out a sigh. "I figured that would be it. Son, I'm not doing anything without your approval, but could you tell me why you don't want to make them pay? 'Cause the thought had crossed my mind before Charles and Jacob brought it up tonight."

Finn noticed Kurt's hands trembling, but the other boy slid them off the table before anyone else could. Kurt replied in a quiet, even tone, "Because, dad, I don't want this hanging over my head for months. I don't want to call any more attention to myself than I already have. Azimio's been arrested, I'm transferring schools. Please, let that be enough." Finn's instincts about Kurt had been right, and honestly, he was on Kurt's side for this – he wouldn't want it to drag on forever either.

His mom shifted in her seat. "Kurt, honey, I wish that it could be. But as it stands, this is already drawing a lot of attention. Mr. Schuester, Burt and Mrs. Callaghan have been putting pressure on the school board to consider implementing a zero tolerance policy at McKinley, and they are not the only parents trying. Artie's mom has been right there with us, and so have Tina's mother and father. The police have been considering planning an anti-bullying assembly, and there's been news coverage on a state-wide level. I don't want you to have to go through any more pain, but there are so many things in motion right now . . ." She stopped there, glancing towards the other adults sitting around the table, Burt in particular. He put a hand over hers and smiled encouragingly, which seemed to be all she needed to continue. "Maybe it would be better to take action now when it's fresh in everyone's minds, so that something like this can never happen here again."

Everyone was quiet as they watched Kurt, who was staring down at the tablecloth, not saying a word. Finn took in what his mom said, wincing inwardly. It sort of sounded like Kurt was becoming a poster boy for this zero-tolerance thing, and that just wasn't something he could see Kurt wanting. His friend seemed more interested in blending into the background now, but even the Kurt that was loud and proud probably wouldn't have wanted this – to be this victimized gay kid on the eleven o'clock news or on Nancy Grace. That wasn't Kurt Hummel. _It shouldn't be the only thing about him that gets noticed_, Finn thought with a lot of anger and a little sadness. _This just never stops sucking._

"Kiddo, I told you – whatever you decide is what I'm gonna go with, okay?" Burt reached his other hand out to rest gently on Kurt's shoulder.

"And the news coverage, it's been very vague – they can't release names because you and that boy are both minors," his mom said reassuringly.

"Why haven't I heard about this before?" Kurt lifted his eyes from the tablecloth.

"Because," Finn's mom said, sounding both frustrated and upset, "up until now, I've managed to badger the hell out of them, and keep it from getting too out of hand, but pretty much as soon as state networks picked up on it, I lost the battle. I'm still on their case – while they can't release names, I want to make sure that nothing of your private life makes its way onto the air. I wish I could make them stop completely, Kurt, I really wish I could."

"A lawsuit would probably make all that worse," Charles Berry sighed. "Depending on how hard the school board fights it, it could get a lot of attention – bring in a lot of people, on both sides of the issue."

"Especially once it gets out that the student attacked is gay," Rachel's other father pointed out. Rachel was keeping quiet, just like Finn, and her eyes were full to the brim with sadness as she leaned in close to Charles.

"Which is exactly why I don't want to do this," Kurt broke in, his voice coming out a little louder. "I don't want this becoming a national campaign. I just want to forget it ever happened. Please, dad. Please."

The hand on Kurt's shoulder squeezed. "Okay. But it's only been a few hours since you heard about this, so how about you give it another couple of days before you decide?"

Kurt inhaled. "Fine. I . . . appreciate everything, Mr. and Mr. Berry, but I'm feeling tired. May I be excused?"

Burt nodded, frowning as Kurt got up from the table. Finn watched him go, feeling the urge to follow; Kurt had rarely left his sight in the past few days, even though up until last night, he and his mom had been going back to their old house every evening. They hadn't really bothered packing too much since they knew Burt was already looking for a new house for them. Finn was looking forward to having his own room – right now most of his stuff was in a large walk-in closet next to the main bathroom. The sofa-bed had proven itself comfortable, and Finn figured once school started up again for him, he could ask Kurt if it would be okay for them to share a room until they moved out. He'd gotten used to being around the boy, and it felt weird, not knowing what he was up to. Finn wondered if there was something wrong with that.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Rachel told him a half hour later, as they stood together on the porch. Her dads were inside, saying their goodbyes to his mom and Burt. "You're worried about him, and you care about his well being. I'm pretty sure if Mercedes had her way, she'd be living here too, just to keep an eye on him. I personally find it reassuring that you've been suspended, if only because you can be there when his dad and your mom can't."

"Until he goes to his new school," Finn said miserably. "It's so weird, Rachel. I've never been so freaked out about someone before. And angry. I'm so angry, all the time. I don't know what to do with that." _Karofsky, _a random voice in his mind piped up, _Karofsky kissed Kurt. That son of a bitch kissed Kurt, and there's no way Kurt wanted that. God, that asshole._

Rachel was worrying her lower lip, wrapping her arms around him. "You're angry, and I'm scared. All the time. I keep thinking that this will get my dads noticed, get my family in trouble. I keep thinking that something else might happen to Kurt and . . ." She shuddered, and Finn put aside his dark thoughts on Karofsky, focusing on hugging her closely, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Yeah. Everything's really messed up right now." _More than you know. _"But Kurt's okay. Nothing's going to happen your dads, or to you. Burt, and my mom, and Ida's mom, and like, everyone else's parents, they're all doing something to make it all better for us. That's gotta count for something."

Rachel sniffed, burying her face in his chest for a few seconds before breathing out and looking up at him. As soon as Finn saw those beautiful but worry-filled chocolate coloured eyes, he had to smile. And then he had to kiss her – kiss his gorgeous, loud, talented and frighteningly determined girlfriend. She had every right to be scared, but Finn didn't want her to be. He kissed her softly at first, then wrapped his arms even more tightly around her, lifting slightly so that he could get a better angle and kiss her more deeply.

She sighed quietly once their mouths parted, and gazed up at him all sparkly eyed and pink-faced. "I may need a lot of that for the next while."

Finn raised his eyebrows, grinning. "Well, make sure you come find me then. Don't be shy about asking."

Rachel laughed and snuggled into his arms again. "And just for the record – I think it's normal that you're angry, Finn. It's probably going to take a long time for us to stop being scared and angry, so until then, we're going to stick close together. All of us."

The front door opened and Rachel's dads stepped out. Finn instantly put a little distance between he and Rachel, though he kept an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Rachel poked him in the side teasingly at this, and then leaned into him as Burt and Finn's mom followed her dads out. They all stood there for a second.

"Where's Kurt?" Finn asked, trying to see if he was maybe standing behind everyone.

"He's down in his room," Burt replied, taking off his baseball cap, turning it around in his hands a few times before jamming it back onto his head. "I'll check on him in a few minutes – didn't want to smother him after . . . after dinner."

"Give Kurt our best," Jacob said quietly.

"We're sorry for keeping Rachel away from him, and from you, Finn, during Kurt's stay at the hospital," Charles said, and Rachel went to her father's side immediately at the sound of his regretful tone. "I'm sure Rachel has told you why."

Finn nodded. "And you really don't need to apologize, Mr. Berry. I'm glad she was with you guys – Kurt understands it too."

The rest of the good-byes were light, and Finn promised Rachel to let her and all of the rest of their friends know if Kurt wasn't up to seeing them tomorrow. Once the Berrys were gone, Burt turned to Finn. "I'm going to check on Kurt. Give your mom a hand with the dishes, will ya, kid?"

Finn followed his mother in kitchen. She pulled him into a hug after tying an apron around herself; he accepted it gratefully, hugging her to him tightly. They pulled back silently and exchanged small smiles before starting in on the dirty stuff in the sink, all the plates, cups and cutlery. His mom wasn't loading the dishwasher though – she was washing them all by hand, handing them to Finn to rinse and put in the dish drying rack. He didn't say a word. He understood the need to keep one's hands busy.

When they were about half way through the pile, Burt appeared in the kitchen, sitting down at the table and watching them. Finn glanced over after a few minutes of silence. Burt caught his gaze. "Kurt's real tired. He said he's gonna turn in early. But he's still okay with your friends coming on by tomorrow. I think he wants the distraction."

That was good to know, Finn supposed, but he still felt like popping in on Kurt himself. Maybe he'd just look in on him before he went to bed.

"Maybe we shouldn't have sprung all this on him so soon." His mom turned away from the sink, wiping her hands on her apron. Her voice was cracking, rasping a little. Finn instinctively put a hand on her shoulder, and she covered it with one of her own, flashing a tearful yet loving smile.

Burt shook his head. "I just want to get everything out in the open – I don't want him thinking we're doin' these things behind his back. And if we're going to do this, I'd want to start sooner rather later. As fast as I can let this be over . . ."

"But the whole thing with the lawsuit, that could drag on forever," Finn pointed out, timidly at first. "I get why you want to do it – hell, _I _kinda want it too – but I get what Kurt is saying. And I'm on his side."

Burt looked over at him, and Finn couldn't read the expression on the man's face. After a second, he smiled and Finn smiled back.

"It's good to know you're in his corner, buddy." Burt stood up from the table, stretching and scrubbing at his face once his back cracked. "I'm gonna have a quick shower, and then head to bed. Sorry for bailing on the dishes, Carole."

"I volunteered, honey, please. I'll join you once I'm done here, Burt." His mom had turned back and resumed washing dishes. Burt disappeared soon after that, and Finn wondered if he should tell his mom about what Puck had found out.

For somewhere in the living room, Finn's cell phone rang out, but he didn't rush to get it, moving to help his mom with dishes again. His mom glanced at him. "Go on, sweetheart, it's okay."

He pressed a quick kiss to the top of his mom's head, and then went to grab it, without looking to see who was calling. "Hello?"

"Dude, did you tell Mr. Hummel what happened?"

Finn immediately moved further away from the kitchen. "Are you crazy? I think Burt would freakin' murder Karofsky and bury him in our backyard." It was a possibility he hadn't considered until he said it – he had no idea what Burt would do if he found out about this, on the heels of everything else that had happened to Kurt, but, then again, didn't he have a right to know?

"Yeah, yeah you're probably right." Puck breathed out heavily. "It's just, it doesn't feel right, man. Someone needs to know about this. Like, what if Karofsky is like . . . I don't know, sort of in love with Kurt? Don't you think that could lead to a worse mess somewhere down the line?"

"I don't know." Finn ran a hand through his hair. "Listen, at some point, I'm gonna talk about this with Kurt. We don't know what happened, and I'm thinking that since Karofsky is so freaked out about it, that means it was just a one time thing, and that he's not going to go blabbing any time soon. He stopped Azimio from hurting Kurt. I'm kinda hoping that means that he's just messed up and scared as opposed to really jacked up and creepy."

Puck was silent for a while, and Finn went over his own words in his head, nodding to himself. As pissed off as he was about Karofsky, if he tried to be a little reasonable, a little optimistic about the whole thing, he could see that Karofsky might not be the villain in this situation. Just another victim.

Kurt was surrounded by people who loved him for who he was – people who occasionally said offensive things, but never to actually _hurt _him (though Finn knew that's what happened and being oblivious to someone's pain, it turned out, could be just as bad as causing it). Dave Karofsky, on the other hand, was surrounded by the same jackass jocks Finn had learned to distance himself from, and had built up a reputation and popularity based on being one of the so-called 'cool' asshole popular kids. He could say with a degree of certainty that there would probably not be a single one of those guys who would stick by Dave if he came out of the closet, and that included his best friend, Azimio.

And since Dave had spent most of life abusing and hating on the very people who _would _accept him for who he was . . . Finn winced. He wasn't sure what he would have done if Dave came to him with this – if he would have been the better person and tried to help the guy out. As of now, he was still simmering on a low boil with anger, and it was difficult to imagine lending a hand to the very guy who so often pushed, shoved, threw slushies, and said awful things that Finn now knew could apply to Dave.

"I'm thinking Kurt's dealing with enough bull-crap, right now." Pucks words were uncharacteristically soft. "The news has started in on McKinley – I saw it this morning, and I heard some guys talking about it at the mall today. It's starting to be a big deal. You and I can handle Karofsky for him."

Finn's happy but slightly disbelieving laugh had Puck chuckling too. They didn't need to say why they were suddenly laughing. He was pretty sure that the Finn and Puck of now would be total strangers to the Finn and Puck of a year ago, of a few months ago even.

"I'm going to tell him we know. I don't get how he could keep this a secret for so long, but I think that telling him we know, and that we aren't going to do anything he doesn't want us to do . . . that's gotta be a help, right?"

"Fuck if I know, Hudson. But yeah. Listen, I've gotta go. Catch you later?"

"Tomorrow," Finn said and hung up. He had wandered as far from the kitchen and bedrooms as he could, lingering near the front door. As he walked back out into the living room, he saw that the kitchen was empty, the sofa-bed laid out for him, and his mom was nowhere in sight. She must've finished and headed to bed, something Finn was thinking of doing himself. He felt so tired, even though he'd done nothing much other than watch Kurt play video games and listen to other people talk.

Sleep sounded awesome right about now.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

An hour later, having risked trauma by knocking on Burt and his mom's bedroom door to wish them goodnight (they were fully clothed and talking when Burt answered the door, _thank God_), he was in his PJs and snuggled into his bed. While channel surfing, he managed to catch a Bond movie (one of the Sean Connery ones) near its beginning, and settled down to watch it.

Unfortunately, not even bouncy Bond girls and gun battles could keep his brain from running around in circles.

He ended up with the TV off, staring at the ceiling. Unable to slip completely into dreamland, his brain worked through things randomly: worry for Kurt, the shocking Karofsky revelation, wondering if Rachel was right – that eventually the anger, the freaked-out-ness, would all fade. But in that minute, everything felt wrong, in such a way that he couldn't imagine it ever being right.

He hoped that if he did manage to fall asleep, his dreams wouldn't be weird ones, like that one about the gnomes and Mr. Schue's sweater vests . . . _Dreams . . . Nightmares . . . _Finn sat up straight, any lingering drowsiness draining so fast he felt dizzy. He glanced in the direction of Kurt's basement door.

Kurt might end up being too shy or proud to come to him like he had the night before. He stood up, careful with his steps, trying to walk on the balls of his feet to make less noise. This was useless when it came to the steps leading down to Kurt's room – Finn knew it was nearly impossible to walk on those stairs quietly. They always made some kind of creak, echoing throughout the basement.

He managed three steps in relative silence, crouching down to see if he could spot Kurt. The boy's bed was against the far wall, and he was curled up on it, with this back to Finn, but after a second, he flipped over, sighing loudly.

"Hey," Finn called out in a loud whisper.

Kurt flew up into a sitting position, pushing himself almost to the edge of the mattress furthest from Finn. His eyes were so huge Finn could make them out in the barely-there silver light of the moon coming in through the windows near the ceiling.

"God, Finn." Kurt was bunching up his blankets between two straining, white-knuckled fists. "What are you doing?"

Finn took the rest of the stairs with less caution, though he kept in mind that their parents were sleeping in the room above their heads.

"I figured you'd . . . well, the nightmares. Wanted to check on you, let you know you could come up and hang with me, if you wanted."

Kurt blinked at him, his grip loosening on his sheets and comforter as Finn approached slowly to sit on the edge of the bed.

"That's kind of you, but I think I'm all right. Truth be told, I doubt I'll be getting much sleep."

Finn nodded. "Me either. I just keep trying to figure things out, but I know I can't figure them out – a lot of it is just, like, _time. _Things won't make sense 'til we have a little distance on them, right?"

Kurt let loose a breath of a laugh. "You're quite right, Finn Hudson. Time. The great healer, they say."

"I don't know about that but, um, maybe we'll be a little better off in a few weeks?" Finn moved until he had his back to the wall, and Kurt's feet were brushing his thighs.

The silence stretched for a few minutes as Kurt adjusted himself into a more comfortable position. "You don't need to hang out with me all night."

"I just said I wasn't getting any sleep, didn't I?" Finn countered. "It's cool. Besides, there's loads to talk about and stuff. Maybe we'll get sleepy. Hey, tell me about that Patty Bone chick, that oughta do it."

Kurt flung a pillow at him, hissing, "That's _Patti LuPone, _you uncultured swine."

"Hey!" Finn fished out one of Kurt's feet from beneath the mountain of blankets, and immediately buried his fingers in the soft arch. The high-pitched giggles that burst forth were both hilarious and kind of adorable (Kurt was so the little brother in this thing, although he wasn't sure when Kurt's birthday was), and so, so awesome to hear, because Kurt was _laughing._

"Finn, I swear to God, if you don't stop –" Any threat Kurt had been about to issue would have been fairly ineffective, considering he was breathless with laughter, trying to whisper, and so ruffled up and harmless looking that Finn started laughing himself. Kurt got a decent grip on another pillow and smacked him with that as well, and then managed to get his foot out of Finn's grip, kicking him once in the side in retaliation.

"Ow! Geez, that _hurt!_"

"Learned your lesson, have you?" the other boy groused, but he was sort of smiling, rearranging his pillows and settling back against them.

Finn rubbed at his ribs, glaring at Kurt balefully, but also unable to keep his lips from pulling upwards. "You have a mean kick."

"Uh, duh. Did you not learn that from the football experience last year?"

He made a noise of agreement and settled again, back to the wall, Kurt's feet partially buried under Finn's knees. It was a comfortable quiet that followed, and Kurt was smiling, which was great. Even with the whole Karofsky thing burdening him, Finn could relax in the other boy's presence. Whenever Kurt was at ease, Finn felt lighter – he knew he was desperately snatching any bit of normal that came by, but it felt good so he wasn't going to question or think about it too much.

Kurt pushed himself further into his pillows, his body stretching and bones cracking as he tried to get comfortable. Finn watched his eyelids sagging downwards, and it was clear that Kurt might be on the verge of falling asleep.

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

Finn meant to say 'good night', he really did. It was in his head, travelling down to his vocal chords, his mouth opening.

What came out instead was: "I know Karofsky k-kissed you."

Kurt's eyes snapped open. A split second later he was flying up into a sitting position, arms flung out on either side as if keeping him anchored down.

Finn recoiled at the panic twisting Kurt's features, along with confusion and fear. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean –"

"How? _When_?" was all Kurt seemed able to ask. He was pushing the blankets down, dragging himself as he moved as far from Finn as he could. He reached the edge of the bed and swung his feet down, getting up on shaky legs and backing away. Finn slid himself to the edge of the bed too, but stayed sitting down. He wasn't sure why – he just knew that he should stay where he was and explain himself before trying to calm Kurt down.

"Tonight. Puck went after Karofsky. We've been trying to figure out what the hell he had to do with what happened. I'm sorry Kurt, really, so sorry!" Finn had no idea exactly why he was apologizing; for what happened with Karofsky? For telling Kurt he knew? For anything and everything he'd done and failed to do since knowing Kurt?

Kurt stared at him, breathing disturbingly fast. Was he having a panic attack? Should Finn call for their parents? No, Kurt was calming down a bit, looking a lot confused, but less panicky.

"Finn, you haven't told –"

"Dude, I just found out _today_," Finn rushed to say. "Puck too, and he came straight here to tell me, and I know he's not going to say anything because we're both freaking out and _why didn't you tell anyone?_"

Kurt blinked, closed his eyes and let out a loud exhale. "Just . . . give me a second. I'm not very good at handling surprises anymore." Another long exhale. "Okay, so, Puck found out today? How?"

"Karofsky." Finn told Kurt nearly word-for-word what Puck had told him, and by the end of it, Kurt had crossed his arms, almost hugging himself while staring down at his bare feet. Finn was chewing on the inside of his cheek, bouncing his leg – moving, shifting, trying really hard not to _demand _that Kurt tell him everything, because Kurt didn't need that from him.

"I'm sorry that you two had to find out about this." That was totally _not _what Finn expected to hear from Kurt. He waited as Kurt lifted a hand to run through his hair, then attempting to smooth it over, still staring down, his brow furrowed like he was thinking really hard or holding back tears; Finn didn't know which it was and that was worrying him. "God, this is . . ."

"Insane. That's what it is." His concern was spiking as Kurt kept on looking as freaked out as Finn felt and then some – was he missing something? "Oh God, did . . ." Finn paused, trying to figure out what he was trying to ask; maybe there was more to this, more to what had happened between Kurt and Karofsky – and that thought made his blood run cold. "Did he do . . . anything else? Like –"

"No, _no._" Kurt shook his head, and Finn's relief was a loud sigh and warm tingling down his limbs. If he felt murderous before, that would've been _nothing _in comparison to what he would have felt if there had been . . . Maybe he should stop thinking about it because the urge to try and finish what he started during that riot was pretty damn strong, making his fingers fold and clench into fists – fists that wanted to meet Karofsky's face again. He loosened his hands, lifting them to his face, swiping against his mostly healed black eye.

"You realize that you can not tell _anyone _about this, right?"

Finn blinked in shock. "Kurt, this is, is . . . You could stop him from hurting you _forever. _You could –"

"Finn, _no. _Absolutely _not." _It looked like he was getting his bearings back because he wasn't shrinking into himself anymore, or allowing himself to mess with his hair. His expression was fierce. "I'm not going to out him. You just don't do things like that to someone who isn't ready. And he _isn't. _If he's breaking down in front of Puck, like you said, I don't even want to know what would happen if this got out. I will not have something like that on my conscience no matter how big of an asshole he's been to me."

He could try and swallow that, but that still left a few other things he wanted to ask about, like, "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I . . . I did, actually." Kurt smiled a little there. "I told Blaine the same day that it happened. He came to try and talk to Karofsky the very next day. It didn't go well. I told dad not soon after, and . . . Mercedes managed to pry it out of me after that. So, you don't need to worry."

"Burt _knows_?" _That_ was hard to deal with. "He knows and he hasn't tried to kill him yet?"

Kurt's smile widened. "Oh, it was a near thing, let me tell you."

He didn't quite understand how Kurt was getting to be more relaxed about this – he was just getting more freaked out. "But, but . . . Karofsky's gay and he, I don't know, he's crushing on you or something and this feels like it could get seriously messed up – like _more _messed – really fast. Really bad."

"I've been over this a hundred times in my head, Finn." Kurt leaned against the back of his white couch. "Most of it ends with people either not believing it and accusing me of being desperate for a boyfriend, or behaving like some kind of predatory gay. Or of starting a rumour to get even, perhaps. And if people do believe it, Karofsky gets abused the same way I did, if not worse because he is a jock amongst jackasses. You're right, things could get messed up, but I'm not going to be the one to make it that way. I'm going to Dalton." Kurt's smile faded. "I'll be away, and hopefully that'll be the end."

Finn couldn't agree with that. So many things had been screwed up lately, and this just felt like . . . _more_. So much more, and it was all left hanging, and damn it, things were always wrapped up and finished on TV shows when crap like this happened. Why did this feel so much like a let down – complicated and without any real ending?

Kurt was standing in front of him, smile officially gone, licking dry lips and staring at him worriedly, like Finn was the one to be worried about here.

"God, I don't get how you can be like this," Finn finally breathed out, laughing a little disbelievingly. "But yeah, okay. I won't say anything, and I'll make sure Puck doesn't start anything either. You, uh, you'll tell someone if something else happens though, right? I get it if you don't wanna tell me. But your dad, for sure. Mercedes, Blaine." He smirked good-naturedly around that last name and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"I will, and for future reference, don't hide things from me either, okay? Just because I'm going to be at Dalton soon doesn't mean that I'm in a totally separate universe. This may be jumping the gun, but don't feel like you need to hold back on whatever's happening at McKinley. You won't break me, I promise." Kurt was moving to stand closer, causing Finn to have to stare up at him to meet his eyes. "This applies to stuff pertaining to what's happened to me. Finn, if you want ask about certain things, do it. I don't particularly like talking about it, I want to forget it ever happened, but I would rather you talk to me than freak out and make up scenarios in your head."

Finn felt like he was on the verge of knowing something. It was itching in his mind but – wait, Kurt had tears in his eyes and Finn had no clue how that happened but he was standing up and reaching out with a hand. Kurt took a step back.

"S-sorry, sometimes . . ." He inhaled wetly. "Sometimes things just . . . hit me out of nowhere." He swallowed a few times, cleared his throat, and then Finn saw Kurt Hummel, fabulous and fierce, poke out through the veil of ghost-pale skin and red-rimmed eyes. "I've done my best to avoid thinking about what all this crying is doing to my complexion."

It was a weak joke, and Finn got it. Not the joke – well, he did get the joke, but that wasn't what his brain was currently reeling in sudden shock over.

He got it. He got what Ida saw. The hero-worship.

Kurt, a little damaged, scared, and changed, was still, deep down, _Kurt. _He'd been beaten and yelled at and so much other crap too, but here he was, telling Finn to come to talk to him if he needed to – cracking jokes about his skin, and shooting Finn small smiles to reassure him.

"Holy crap, dude, you're awesome."

Kurt choked out a nervous laugh. "What?"

Finn stared down at him, feeling a smile stealing across his face. "You're like, a living inspiration person. You know. The ones that you see on Oprah and stuff."

"You watch Oprah?"

"You know what I mean." Finn sailed smoothly right past that (come on, who _didn't _watch Oprah at least once? . . . Or twice). "You're one of the ones that people want to interview and write articles about how brave and awesome you are because, well, you're brave and awesome."

Kurt just kept looking at him, a little confused, but there was a pink colour to his cheeks. "I don't think anyone's going to be wanting to interview me. At least not for those reasons. But that's . . . I don't quite see what you see, but . . . thank you."

Finn had an urge, but he wasn't sure how Kurt would take it, so he asked, cautiously. "You seem okay with people touching you, right?"

This time Kurt did laugh, full-bodied and real. "Finn, someone needs to teach you about appropriate segues. But yes. I'm surprisingly okay with people touching me. Not all of the time. But it doesn't feel like a big problem."

He nodded. "Cool. So, then, like, it would be okay if I hugged you right now?"

Kurt's eyebrows shot up and his lips parted. "Um . . ." Finn gave him his best smile coupled with his best puppy-eyes, which had the other boy furrowing his brow. "Really? I know Rachel's made you sit through an obscene amount of chick-flicks, but not every emotional or dramatic conversation between two people needs to end with a physical exchange of some –"

"Dude," Finn cut him off, taking one step closer. "You're basically my stepbrother, or soon gonna be, and you're my friend. And you've been through a lot, so I just want to hug you, all right? Hugs show comfort and like . . . I don't know what else, but it feels right for me. Right? Right. So shut up and let me."

A short burst of laughter escaped from Kurt, and when he didn't move away, Finn took that as his cue. He stepped up into Kurt's space and slowly, carefully, put his arms around him.

"I'm not made of fine china, Finn," Kurt said, sounding a little amused.

Finn pulled him closer, his arms tightening around him, and after a second, he felt Kurt's arms come up too, wrapping around his back.

It was nice. Comforting.

Kurt had gotten tall enough that Finn's chin brushed against his hair, against the top of his head, and he wondered if maybe the other boy was still growing. Finn had peaked he thought (hoped), but maybe Kurt was like those guys that got huge in college or something. He snorted at the idea that Kurt might one day be as tall as him – it just wasn't something he could picture.

"What? What is it?" Kurt asked, muffled a bit by Finn's shirt. He tried to pull away but Finn didn't let him get far.

"Nothing." Finn looked down at him. "Just thinking you got tall. Er. I mean, maybe you've got a few more inches to go – wouldn't that be cool?"

Kurt frowned. "I don't know. I'm not looking to become a Frankenteen. And it's easer to hem pants than find them in Gigantor sizes. But perhaps a couple more inches would be . . . cool."

He snorted again because he couldn't get the weird image of a taller Kurt out of his head, and Kurt pulled away even further, half-glaring and then yawning. Finn grinned at that. "I think you're tired."

Kurt's glare was pretty weak, so Finn felt perfectly safe in yanking him close again and ruffling his hair. "Aw, do you want me to tuck you in and sing you a lullaby?"

A sharp finger jabbed into his side, hard, and he flinched away, wincing. "Ow, geez Kurt, that was right where you kicked me!"

"Let it serve as a lesson not to meddle with me when I am sleepy," Kurt said around another yawn. "Can I please go to bed now?"

Finn dropped his arms from around Kurt, grinning sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry. It was okay though, right?"

"Yes, Finn," Kurt said, and it was coupled with a slightly disbelieving smile. "I wish the you of six months ago could see this."

"Uh, I am the me of six months ago," he protested, but even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. Too much had happened (most of it within the past week or so), and he'd been thinking earlier on how much he and Puck had changed.

He shook his head, banishing guilt he'd already dealt with, and dark thoughts he didn't need right now. He smiled brightly down at Kurt. "I'll totally hug you anywhere. We could drive over to McKinley before you transfer and I'll hug you in front of the whole football team. Whatever you want."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Not necessary, but thank you. Now can I _please _go to sleep?"

Finn got in one last hair-ruffle. "Yeah, Kurt, go for it." He laughed as Kurt batted his hands away, making an annoyed sound as he did so.

"You head on back upstairs – I'll . . ." Kurt inhaled deeply, pushing out the air slowly and looking so _him_, that it lightened something in Finn's chest to see it. "I'll be okay. Thank you, Finn."

"I'm upstairs if you need me," he said easily. "And I'm gonna get you tomorrow, just watch – I'm so down with guy touching now."

"Please don't say it like that," Kurt said, wincing. "Really, it's fine. I believe you." The quick, drowsy smile Kurt gave him had Finn grinning his way up the stairs and resolving to give Kurt a nice dose of brotherly love, in front of the Glee club (plus Blaine and Ida), because he wanted there to be no doubts in Kurt's mind that Finn was going to be his brother throughout all this – an awesome brother (and better friend) that gave hugs, that actually paid attention; one who knew when to stick around (and tickle laughs out of him) and when to go back to his own bed because he'd done all he could.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Finn happily continued to prove his okay-ness with the guy touching by hugging Kurt the next day in front of all their friends, both new and old. There were plenty of jokes and over-the-top 'aww'ing, especially when he refused to let go, even as Kurt threatened his life, his Xbox, and his signed Reds' jersey.

After a couple of minutes, Mercedes and Tina decided to help Kurt out by poking and tickling at Finn. Kurt crowed his revenge, but Sam and Puck ended up coming in on Finn's side and it all quickly ended up in this weird dog pile/group hug on the floor of the living room. Finn thought this kind of stuff only happened on cheesy teen sitcoms, but there he was, half-hugging Kurt, and blowing bits of Brittany's hair from his face.

There was a tense moment when Rachel flipped out about Kurt, worried how he would take all the smothering contact. She yanked an arm out from beneath Sam's leg, reaching for Kurt who was somewhere in the middle, pressed in close to Finn – but Kurt, hair messed up, clothes wrinkled, was actually smiling, grinning even, sitting on top of Puck, wrapped in Mercedes' arms, legs tangled with Brittany's. Finn sighed in relief and matched Kurt's wide smile with his own. He wasn't going to point out the mess that was Kurt's formerly perfect 'do; that would just lead to pain and possibly the death of his Xbox.

It wasn't until Puck started bitching about Kurt not weighing "as little as a fairy should", followed by a loud thump to his shoulder from either Quinn or Mike (or both, Finn couldn't see from his position), that everyone started laughing, including Ida, Artie and Blaine, who were watching from the sidelines.

Finn glanced up from his half-laying down pose just in time to see Ida snap a picture. She blushed when she saw she'd been caught, but Finn just smiled his big smile. "I'm definitely going to want a copy of that. It's so going up on Facebook."

"Copy of what?" Kurt asked, purposefully kneeing Puck in the stomach as he tried to get to his feet while caught in Mercedes' own feet, and awkwardly entangled with Brittany, Sam and now Rachel, who was looking a little worried.

"The picture Ida just took."

To Finn's (and Rachel and Mercedes', he could tell) delight, Kurt hands immediately flew to his hair, whipping around to demand Ida show him that picture, struggling even harder to get up amidst a storm of pained cussing from Puck.

Kurt's rant came to a sudden halt when Blaine appeared in front of him, one hand grabbing Kurt's and pulling up him gently. Finn nudged Rachel, who poked Tina, who winked over at Mike and Mercedes.

Blaine was smiling and teasing Kurt about his hair, and Kurt stopped fussing with it, biting his lip and giving a small smile tentatively back, though it was getting bigger and bigger. Then his expression switched over to surprise when Blaine tugged him into a quick-as-lightning hug, letting go to say, "God, it's so great to see you like this, Kurt. Smiling and . . . I can't even begin to tell you . . ."

"Don't tell him, Curly McGhee – lay one on him, a big, juicy wet one!" Santana called from her reclined position on the floor, leaning back on her elbows to leer up at the now blushing boys.

"Way to ruin the moment, Lopez." Mercedes whipped a pillow at her.

Before any real damage could happen (Santana had thrown the pillow back at Mercedes with a lot of force and Finn could see Artie reaching for a cushion out of the corner of his eye, while Puck was snatching a pillow of his own), Kurt stepped in. "No way, guys, you are not starting this here. The last thing my dad needs is to have this house de-valued because we've demolished the living room."

Mercedes tossed the pillow lightly at Kurt, and he caught it easily, flinging it onto the nearest sofa. "Sam, put on _Tron_ – let's see this marvel of 80s SGI."

Sam practically flew over to his bag to get the movie, and everyone picked their spots on the floor or the couches. The coffee table had been pushed off to the side and behind the loveseat, so they were all able to sprawl (and Artie had an easier time manoeuvring) wherever and whichever way they wanted.

Finn hid a smirk as Mercedes made Rachel switch places with Blaine so that Kurt was sandwiched between them. It was obvious and kind of ridiculous, but everyone was trying so hard to make up for what happened Thursday night.

No one was talking around what happened to Kurt anymore; Finn had heard Artie quietly ask Kurt a few questions about Thursday, Tina had asked Kurt's permission before pulling him into a tight hug when she arrived, and Quinn made Kurt promise to call her if he ever needed to unload like that again – but even with all that, they were careful about what they said around him. The best way Finn could think of describing it was like a tightrope walk. They were walking this fine line, wobbling back and forth between hugely tense moments and totally normal ones. The laughter kept it all balanced, kept them from falling over and having it all go to hell. Again.

While Finn watched everyone watching the movie, it was like this was a movie too, except he could see it and the behind-the-scenes stuff at the same time.

Puck was joking and rolling his eyes, but he got this look on face when he thought no one was looking – Finn knew he wasn't taking the whole 'do nothing to Karofsky' thing well – like he was in pain, and maybe even a little sad, when he glanced over at Kurt. Mercedes was laughing, getting into pointless arguments with Rachel and Santana, and she wasn't nearly as much of a mother hen as she had been the past week, but her hands kept twitching whenever Kurt sighed or cuddled into her side; her eyes would flash brightly and her voice would thicken. Rachel kept sneaking glances at her phone, and that would be normal except that Finn knew everyone she cared about was in this room – except her dads; she was still scared, still jumpy and while her voice was as loud as it ever was, it softened noticeably when she was talking to Kurt. Even Santana's insides were exposed to him; she was cutting and rude, but it was like she was _wearing_ her Tough Bitch personality instead of actually _being _a Tough Bitch – she couldn't hide the way she chewed on her lip whenever Kurt closed his eyes for a minute or shivered slightly beneath his blankets.

Brittany was the most straightforward one of all. She didn't try and put on a front. She snuggled into Kurt's legs, kept a loose grip on an ankle, treating him like he was a toy she'd thought she'd lost but had now found again; now she wasn't ever letting Kurt out of her sight. Finn knew the envious glances some of the girls were shooting her had to do with the fact that only Brittany could get away with behaviour like that.

The world had shifted under Finn's feet the day Kurt had been wheeled away on a gurney, pale and red all at once. He wasn't sure if it would ever shift back, but in the meantime he was finding his bearings.

He was stumbling and unbalanced, never really knowing what to say or do or feel, but Kurt was alive, Kurt was still smiling, and even if the world remained tilted forever, that would have to be good enough for him.

But maybe it was better if things never shifted back. Finn could see more than he could before, and he knew damn well that changes were needed, not just in the big stuff like lawsuits and zero tolerance policies, but with him, with Puck, with Rachel – with all of them.

Maybe something good could come out of this, because sometimes a shake and a shock were enough to make everyone else tilt too and see things differently. Finn would help make sure of it; he didn't think he would ever amount to much unless he managed a football scholarship, but this, _this_ was something he could do, this was something he could try and fix, and damned if would let all this pain and fear and anger be for nothing.

He nodded to himself and settled down to really watch the movie (and _holy crap those bikes are freaking awesome!_).

He finally relaxed, feeling a low buzz of happiness ease into him from his comfy position on the couch, with Artie behind him, equally wow-ed by the awesomeness on screen, and Sam spouting out random facts, even with Santana and Tina nudging him into silence. Kurt gave all three of them his best bitch-face and that had Finn swallowing down more laughter.

Things really felt good. Right now, he was watching a really cool virtual bike race with all his best friends, all of them warm and comfy, and he knew his mom had a made a fresh batch of low-fat/sugar cookies for him and Kurt.

Figuring out how to earth-shake-world-tilt people could start tomorrow.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **I have no apologies that could ever make up for leaving you people on the hook for so long. We've got at least one more (obscenely long) part to go – I have an idea for another part, but it may have to wait for a sequel or something – I'll let you guys know, since I may require your input :) And this may be my longest Author's Note ever, so bear with me (I promise to never do it again :D).

_Thanks:_

I want to give a big-shout to these incredible people: **Ella Greggs, Prieva, vcg73, Zoxx, The Chocolate Alchemist, AdamPascalFan, starzinyourskye **and **MorganD**. They've helped me so much throughout the course of this with their support, some amazing insights and great advice. Reading (and re-reading) their thoughts on this story very much influenced the emotions and experiences I put Kurt through, and helped me write to the best of my ability in general. I bow to you guys – thanks so much for everything!

_Recommendations:_

I don't how long it'll be until I next post, but in the meantime, I have some recommended readings for you guys, to help tide you over, if you so need it (all can be found on my favourite's list):

**Easier Than Telling the Truth **by **Ella Greggs **is an excellent, EXCELLENT post-NBK fic that has some of the best, most clever insights into Kurt ever. Her characterization is FLAWLESS. It merits endless raptures – it's like having an audio track of his thoughts during Furt since I so hear Chris Colfer's voice while reading – it's THAT perfect.

If you need a little more Klaine, read **Days of Summer **by **LaPenseur. **It's a wonderful and wonderfully written Klaine one-shot fic with two parts, and it's deserving of far more praise than it has received – go read and comment and maybe we'll get some more out of her!

**Why Blaine Anderson Should Never Be In the Kitchen **by **Loony4moony816 **is full of awesomely un-canon, unconventional pairings, Blaine being utter fail in the kitchen while also being utterly adorable, and it is one of THE best birthday gifts I've ever received.

**vcg73 **writes stories that make me feel better on some of my worst days ever: if you need a long Kurt romance (and ship Kurt/Happiness), you must read** Everything Old is New Again **and/or **Crush Object.** The first is a Kurt/Mike that starts off rather heart-wrenching but slowly builds up to a beautiful love story, and the second is full of cuteness, fluff, some awkward and some seriously BAMF Kurt dealing with someone having a crush on him!

And finally, I've been slowly reading **MorganD's **fantastic story of Kurt and Finn and their bonding over warm milk, **At the End of Each Day. **Go, read it: each chapter is a story in and of itself, and the brothers Furt, as she writes them, give me such joy and warm fuzzies!

**AND FINALLY, **many thanks to any of you who have stuck around (particularly to the end of this obscene Author's Note!)

**Comments, favourites, alerts, are all awesome and appreciated. I feel so terrible about the long wait, so it would be lovely to know if some of you are still around, and still interested (and if you're new, say hi, I love to reply back!). Oh, and check your Private Messaging and make sure it's turned on – the website sometimes turns it off randomly, and I can't reply back to you guys if it's off!**

**If you've made it this far down, I give you cookies, eternal love and rainbows, because you're amazing :D**


	10. Look Right Through Me

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Look Right Through Me_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kurt had his head down and his eyes were squeezed shut, as if in pain. Ida would have been worried, but a moment later he was letting out a joyous, "Ah-_ha!" _and springing up from where he'd been bent over the engine of the old Chevy. "I haven't lost my touch after all."

Burt's partner in the garage, a tall dark skinned man named Leo, walked over from where he'd been leaning against a red minivan and clapped a hand onto his shoulder. "Kid, your oil changes were dead-on by the time you were ten."

"Well, I have been out of practice." Kurt stretched as he spoke, flicking a couple of stray locks of hair from his brow. "And we all know the real reason you want me here is because I'm the human shield between you and Mrs. Moskowitz."

"That's maybe only fifty percent of why I want you here regularly," Leo defended himself with a laugh before turning to Ida. "Mrs. Moskowitz is a very, very nice woman, she just seems to be under the impression that I am interested in . . . more than her car."

"Insert obligatory innuendo about what's under her hood and the revving of engines," Kurt said drily and ducked when Leo attempted to swat him with a dirty rag. The man gave another fond chuckle and disappeared into the office.

Ida breathed out a little laugh, munching on her grapes and (not really) studying her history notes. She was sitting crossed legged on a table piled high with tools; she was careful about shifting and rearranging things so she wouldn't be in anyone's way. It was great to able to selfishly enjoy the brief hour or so she had to be with Kurt while the vast majority of Kurt's friends languished in detention with Coach Sylvester. After the fun that was yesterday, she was eager to come see Kurt again today; a Monday had never been so appealing to her.

Now she was witnessing a Kurt that seemed a little less quiet, a little less grey around the edges. It made it easier on her because sometimes, when she'd spent time with Kurt, her brain would superimpose that wet, bloody, deathly pale boy over the one looking over at her now. Sometimes that image haunted her at night after she closed her eyes, followed by a much larger, monstrous-looking Azimio who ripped them both to shreds while wearing an eerily giddy smile.

The better Kurt felt, the better she felt, and she didn't care if that was silly or unhealthy.

"Dude, what the hell!" Finn was spitting and spluttering as something brownish-black and sticky-looking smeared his face. Kurt burst out laughing and Ida backed away as the taller teen came barrelling over to them. "I swear" – he coughed, grimacing – "I did everything Burt said!"

"Oh really?" Kurt gave the truck Finn had been working on a cursory glance, raising an eyebrow. "Because the results would argue to the contrary." Finn scowled and leaned over the engine once more. "Ack!" More coughing, then glaring, and Ida hid her giggles behind her binder of notes, watching the scene from over the top of it. "All right, so something went wrong, but I don't get _what_!"

"Okay, hold your horses, I'm coming – sorry, Ida, westward expansion is just going to have to wait," he said with a long-suffering sigh and a smile that had nothing behind it but genuine mirth.

"Go on, I'm fine." She grinned, abandoning all pretences and putting her homework down to watch them. She uncrossed her legs, letting them kick gently in the air, laughing to herself as Kurt smacked Finn upside the head.

"He's never been as good at cars as he is now," Burt said from behind her, startling her a bit. "Sorry, Ida, didn't mean to scare you." She shook her head in dismissal and he moved to stand next to her, smiling faintly at the sight of the two boys arguing over the hood of the rusted pick-up truck. "He's always been pretty handy, but he was never gonna take over the business, and I'm good with that. Today, though, he did stuff in less than an hour that used to take him two. I guess he's using it to keep him distracted."

"It seems to be helping him a lot," she offered.

"Yeah, but it ain't a permanent solution," he replied, looking over at her with keen grey-blue eyes. Kurt's eyes had that extra bit of green that made them especially pretty, but Burt's were no less amazing. She wondered at the gruff man before her – he really wasn't what she had expected Kurt Hummel's dad to be like, but as days went by, she was picking up on similarities, like their solid stubbornness and straightforward way of communicating. More importantly, there was no way she could miss how much Burt Hummel adored his son, and vice versa. Now Burt was watching her with a somewhat concerned expression – one she was also becoming very familiar with."Ida, you doin' okay? Is there . . . I mean, your mom mentioned you might be seeing a . . . therapist?"

"Oh, no, not yet." She flushed, embarrassed and a little annoyed her mother would discuss something so private with someone they were only just getting to know. There had been a few passionate arguments over whether or not she needed therapy, and Ida was starting to seriously consider it, though she hadn't decided when to actually give it a chance. "I don't think I need it just now." She brushed off her irritation because Burt wasn't the one she was annoyed with. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I think that's what I want for Kurt, but he isn't willing to try." His head was tilted towards his son. "And you being the one who was there, who saw – I thought if you were . . . but never mind. You okay just hanging out here?"

"Yes, it's fun and being with Kurt is . . . nice." She somehow managed to hold back a blush – Finn had joked about Ida having a crush on Kurt more than once, and Burt had tried to have a conversation with her about it. She cleared up the misunderstanding quickly, but she was still embarrassed by it. "I appreciate you letting me be here, since I'm of no help."

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Ida, you're welcome whenever, trust me. And if you ever do want to learn, either Kurt or me will be happy to teach you. It would be a good way to make sure you never get scammed by some no-good mechanic out to take you for a ride."

She smiled brightly at that. "Sounds good. Maybe over the winter break?"

"Sure, you just give us a call." He stiffened quite suddenly and Ida looked over to see Officer Henderson standing at the entrance to the garage. She immediately glanced back to Finn and Kurt, who had quieted as soon as they spotted him. Finn moved in closer to the other boy, posture straightening, and his wariness obvious in the tense lines of his shoulders.

"Hello Mr. Hummel. Kurt, Finn, how you boys doing?" He was a very kind man; Ida had felt safe when he'd been speaking to her at the hospital, and sure that he was going to do everything he could to help them, to get Azimio the punishment he deserved – but unfortunately she couldn't help the way her stomach flipped, the way her fingertips and toes felt cold and tingly when she saw him.

"Officer, what can we do for you? Anything we need to talk about? My office is just back here." Burt moved to stand in front of him, reaching to shake his hand. The policeman shook it firmly a few times before stepping back, taking in the way Finn stood protectively next to Kurt.

"No, thank you Mr. Hummel – Burt. Mostly I was coming to inform you about one of the initiatives the police department is taking for prevention of future bullying. We can talk about it in your office, but I think Kurt and Finn might like to hear it."

Burt's eyes narrowed. Ida didn't think Burt wanted Kurt involved in anything, anywhere, other than getting better and putting it all behind him – she'd overheard him saying as much a few times since she started coming over to Kurt's house and now the garage.

Kurt was shifting around Finn and standing next to his dad. "Go ahead. I suppose it's worth hearing about, if nothing else. Though, why didn't you just call my dad?"

"I wanted to tell you in person, see your reaction, because there is something else – well, let me explain." Everyone seemed to settle a little: Finn against the bumper of the pick-up, Burt leaning back against a rack of tires, Kurt at his side doing the same. Officer Henderson looked at them each in turn, and Leo, who Ida had not even noticed coming back in, seemed to want to hear this too. He stood against the table Ida was sitting on. Henderson finally seemed to register her, smiling in that reassuring way he had, putting her at ease. "Hello Ida, sorry I didn't see you there. It'll be nice to hear your input."

His expression became a little more serious then as he began his explanation. "We're planning on having an assembly type conference at the school. We've been in talks with the board, investigating for misconduct. My chief and I are trying to establish a pattern of neglect. As per your suggestions, Burt, and the suggestions of your mom, Ida, we've been digging into Figgins' past actions and McKinley's disciplinary problems, particularly those unrecorded. We've drummed up several assaults previously unreported, and numerous accounts of harassment that go beyond teasing or heckling. The Abrams family especially is interested in pursuing charges – what those kids did to their son . . ." He shook his head, a deep frown marring his features.

Ida glanced towards Finn. He was staring down at his shoes. She had never witnessed anything happening to Artie outside of slushies and taunting – but she'd only been at McKinley for a month or so, and according to the Glee club, aside from what happened to Kurt, things used to be _worse _before.

She could hardly imagine _worse._

"The school board is trying to avoid having any more law suits thrown at them other than the one the Abrams and several others are threatening, not to mention the potential for criminal charges. They are working with us to establish a new policy for discipline in the district, and part of that is putting together an assembly that will address the gravity of what happened to you, Kurt. We need swift action to make sure the kids know how damn unacceptable all this is. A couple of news stations were going to be there, though I'm not certain the entire event will be televised – but if not, good chunks of it may end up online."

Kurt said nothing, hardly moving, and that made Ida long for the Kurt of five minutes ago, arguing with Finn, eyes alight, lips twitching upwards.

"It'll be attended by members of the school board, by the student body, and myself and other officers. I wanted to keep you informed, and ask if you wanted to be there or not."

Officer Henderson waited patiently after all that; the quiet, firm tone he had spoken in was in no way coercive or condescending.

"What does it matter?" Kurt asked, his eyes and expression giving away nothing, which was pretty telling in and of itself – Kurt had such an expressive face, and his eyes most of all usually broadcasted whatever he was feeling. Maybe Ida just didn't know him well enough to read him yet, but this blankness felt wrong.

"Because you're the one who had to pay so steeply for their negligence, for their stupidity and their ignorance. You being there would be a tangible reminder of all their wrongs, something they can't ignore."

Kurt sighed then, and Finn shifted uncomfortably by the truck, looking like he was on the verge of saying something. The boys met each other's eyes and something passed between them. Kurt's face twisted into a bittersweet smile. "So, a poster boy, then? Officer, I'm not really interested."

"Of course, but I would like to point out that you don't have to get up there and make a speech. You could simply be present, or make a single statement. You could be in the background, or . . ." He hesitated. "You could sing."

"I'm sorry, what?" Kurt's voice was flat.

Ida felt Leo move behind her, and she cast a glance at Finn again – his brow was furrowed, his mouth pulling downwards. Kurt was back to being expressionless, though he squeezed both his hands into fists at his sides. Burt reached out without looking, one of his larger, rougher hands enclosing one of Kurt's. The other fist relaxed minutely.

Henderson turned his full attention to Kurt. "I know you're part of your Glee club, and I know you have all performed in front of the school before. Maybe you could do a song, if you don't feel like speaking. If that would make you feel more comfortable, there's no reason why not."

Emotions flickered across Kurt's face too fast for Ida to catch. "I don't think I could. I don't think I ever want to set foot in that school again, honestly."

Ida wanted to say something, but she couldn't say it now, not in front of so many people. Kurt and Mercedes were the ones she felt closest to and perhaps later she would express her thoughts to them, but for now she kept silent. Her heart was hammering at the idea of Kurt singing out whatever he was feeling, be it hatred, fear, or despair, in front of the ones who had a hand in doing this to him. It felt wrong – some things should not be shared, least of all with people she partially blamed for it all. What's more, being an intensely private person herself, the thought of baring her soul to total strangers had her shivering.

"You mentioned earlier that this might be recorded – even televised," Kurt said quietly. "I just . . . I don't think I could."

Finn's shoulders rolled back as he stood ramrod straight, looking up at Mr. Hummel. Burt stared back at him, nodding, and Leo stepped away from the table, his arms crossed, eyes flicking back and forth between the police officer and the Hummel family. Kurt gave the man the faintest of smiles and Leo gave him a special lopsided one in return; it softened his features with the affection he clearly felt for the younger Hummel. All these people, communicating without saying a word. Ida bit back a small flare of irrational jealousy. She was on the outside looking in, at times, despite how welcoming they'd all been, but she hadn't been present, hadn't known Kurt long enough to have a right to wordless conversations and interjections. She breathed in deeply, and did what she did best: watch.

"Kurt, buddy," Burt said after all the silent exchanges, "I'm behind you one hundred percent, whatever you decide. Personally though, I don't want you within a hundred yards of the place."

Kurt didn't say a word after that, just let Officer Henderson finish describing the rest of the assembly: it was being organized by representatives of the ACLU and several anti-bullying groups, they were trying to schedule it for next Friday, and if Kurt wanted, he could request to not be filmed – everyone present had the option to not be recorded, including the students in the audience.

Officer Henderson gave Kurt a small, understanding smile once he was done. "Look, this is all being done fast and messy, mostly to give the school board a chance to get some good press back, and maybe stave off some serious legal actions. You can let me know whenever, even the day of – it's not a big deal to work you in. But if you don't want to do anything, that's fine too. No one is asking you to be a poster boy, and I already think you're one of the bravest kids I know. You don't have anything to prove to anyone – only do it if you're damn sure you want to, and for no other reason than that."

Kurt gave him a wordless nod, a half-smile, and Burt strode forward to shake the officer's hand again and lead him outside for a private talk. When they were out of earshot, Leo took a few steps to stand before Kurt, reaching a slow hand out to put on his shoulder. "Kid, you doing okay?"

There was a shrug, a quick series of flickering emotions, a soft, dry, "Just having a minor existentialist crisis, and also contemplating making lasagna for dinner – I could use something hearty and fattening."

"Existentialism and lasagna, huh?" Leo's mouth quirked upwards. "Well, when it comes to the lasagna, if you have any leftovers, save some for me, yeah? You've totally ruined me for Sheila's cooking these past couple months."

The hand stayed on his shoulder as Kurt agreed and they chatted until Mercedes, Rachel, Puck, and Sam, and just about everyone else burst into the garage, jabbering and singing and arguing. Ida sighed to herself, but smiled as Puck and Mercedes waved her over, Rachel asking why the police were there as she accepted a grease-stained hug from her boyfriend.

They all ended up back at Kurt's house much to Burt's chagrin. Soon after arriving, Burt and Carole left to get ingredients for the lasagna and someone suggested they get a head start on baking some dessert. The resulting chaos was hilarious, dangerous, and unforgettable; Ida never wanted to go back to being the wallflower ever again, not now that she understood what it was to be with people who knew your name and smiled while they said it. This offbeat glee club was worth all the pain and fear it had taken to get her here with them.

Even if they did occasionally set things on fire.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ida dug through her backpack, taking out a salami and cheese sandwich, munching in the quiet. She'd had to duck and hide all day, and it was exhausting.

The vast majority of McKinley still didn't know who she was. Her first day back she'd gotten a few looks, but for the most part no one from the crowds said a word to her, and she breathed easy.

However, the Glee club, they were something different; Mercedes had been incredibly focused on Kurt, as was to be expected, but she'd made a point to keep tabs on Ida during the school day. She sent e-mails almost every night, even if they were just one-sentence reminders that Ida had a place among them, and she could talk to any of them if she wanted to (_"Well, except for Santana . . . and Puck . . . maybe Brittany – you can talk to her, but first you have to make sure you're talking about the same thing, and even then, I can't guarantee either you or her will get what's going on."_).

Point being, they went out of their way to talk to her, to include her, and Mercedes seemed to want her around all the time. Ida hadn't realized that being friends with someone could be so _exhausting. _She had been so used to quiet and being left alone with her own thoughts, and what's more, she needed some of that, from time to time, even though she was incredibly grateful that the Glee club was being so great to her. She never wanted to go back to being as alone as she'd been before, but just a few moments of solitude, now and then, would be nice.

As of that Friday, it had been two weeks and a day since the attack. In that time, McKinley had been hovering in this weird sort of limbo; no one seemed to know quite what to do with themselves, because even though things appeared to be going back to normal, there was a distinct lack of slushie-throwing and locker-slamming in the hallways. The teachers kept meeting in huddles and discussing things between classes – Ida had been able to pick up words like '_school board' _and '_police chief' _and '_lawsuit'_. She knew more than most what those terms meant since her mother was neck-deep in a lot of the behind-the-scenes stuff, but Ida's focus lay in the present on-scene atmosphere of William McKinley High School.

It was . . . different and better in a lot of ways, but it all felt transport, intangible.

Then Puck almost took Mathuchek's head off in-between classes on Tuesday. No one else had seen what had set him off – but Ida had. Being a periphery character in the school had even her new friends failing to notice her in the crowds at times. Mathuchek had been laughing and joking with his buddies – and then some little sophomore had walked past, head held high like no dork had ever dared to in these hallways.

Mathuchek had – almost like it was reflex – stuck out a foot without even looking and sent the poor boy flying. Puck, McKinley's Mohawked Avenging Angel, had appeared out of nowhere and slammed the jock into the lockers so hard that the reverberation made nearly everyone in the hallway jump a foot in the air, and a good portion dropped binders and textbooks. People had already become accustomed to not hearing body-meeting-locker in the halls anymore.

Puck hadn't said anything, but the glare he levelled was enough to send a chill down Ida's spine even though she wasn't the target. She remembered that Puck had spent time in juvy, that he had been one of the first to join in on the riot when Finn had lost it on Karofsky, and most importantly, she remembered the way Puck had taken her aside on her first day back to school, and said '_What you did was too cool for words – so you're forever cool, in my books. Just saying.' _He hadn't spoken more than a handful of words to her in the two weeks since, but Ida was impressed all the same, and more so by the way he prowled the halls, making everyone who had ever been afraid suddenly feel _safe . . . That_ was saying everything.

Things had changed but somehow stayed the same. Puck was still scary, but with different targets now. The jocks were still stupid and cruel, but subdued. The students hardly ever mentioned Kurt in conversation, but they gave Mercedes and Rachel and pretty much everyone in the Glee club a wide berth.

The assembly had been officially scheduled for the next Friday.

"Oh, hey! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Ida closed her eyes briefly before opening them to see Rachel Berry bearing down on her, brown eyes determined and strides strangely fast and long for someone with such short legs. Ida wondered idly if the girl had ever considered trying out for track and field – she certainly had the lung capacity for it, and the way she quick-stepped everywhere meant that she could probably sprint with the best of them.

"Hi Rachel."

"What are you doing in this corner all by yourself?" Rachel chided her, smile wide and too bright. "We told you to sit with us at lunch."

Ida had tried to sit with them days ago, but the flurry of conversation, of arguing, of inside jokes and conflicts, it had all left her feeling dazed, left out, and very, very confused as to how these people functioned as friends. It was also funny, exhilarating, and she had gotten to know Tina and Mike better, two people who she would very much like to be closer to – but for now, small doses. That past Sunday (the picture of that dog pile of Glee members was up on her Facebook wall) and Monday (despite being drenched with fire extinguisher foam) at Kurt's house had been the most fun she'd had in a long, long time – and she wanted more, but not all at once.

She had to ease her way in, because she was fairly certain that otherwise their crazy was contagious.

"I needed to study for a quiz next period," she said, which was half-true. She'd studied the night before, and only needed a quick glance at her notes. "Sorry for not letting you know."

"It's all right – but I was looking for you for another reason." Rachel kneeled on the ground next to Ida, hands folded in her lap over her navy blue dress. "I was wondering if you knew for a fact that Kurt's not coming to the assembly next Friday." She spoke in a hushed tone, glancing over her shoulder a lot. It wasn't a widely known fact that Kurt had been offered a place in the assembly and they all worked hard to keep it that way.

Ida glanced around herself as well before answering, "I'm not sure – Kurt told us he wasn't. He's been busy with his fashion portfolios, and helping at his dad's garage, fixing up that old Mustang."

"But you were there yesterday, right? I mean, you and Mercedes and Blaine – you didn't try and change his mind?"

Ida smiled. "No, Rachel, we didn't."

Kurt was allowed a maximum of three visitors per day (since the Monday kitchen fire incident), and Ida had claimed yesterday's slot, eager to get some semi-alone time with Kurt. Mercedes had also specifically asked Ida to be there, because she was determined that they be good friends by the winter break. Ida accepted this plan easily, even if she was a little thrown by the fierce determination behind it.

Yesterday, with only a small group of them there, Mercedes had tried to convince Kurt to join her at her volunteer job at the community centre, helping elementary school kids with homework. Blaine was enthusiastic about getting him acquainted with all things Dalton. Kurt had been politely interested in both, but he clearly wasn't super excited about either.

Ida hadn't been able to find the words for what she wanted to say, because she had been feeling a little protective on Kurt's behalf – like maybe she wanted people to back off and give him space again.

But she didn't have the right, did she? _No, no I don't, _she insisted to herself.

The topic of the assembly came up once, and it had been Blaine who asked if Kurt maybe wanted to attend as an observer, silent and unnoticed in the background. The other boy thought about it for a few long moments before answering.

_He was tugging on the buckle of the pants he was wearing, which had several other belts wrapped around his thighs and calves. Ida had been happy to see Kurt beginning to look like himself again, but she wondered if he'd be able to keep it up outside of the four walls of his house. She'd overheard Finn talking to Mercedes about how worried he was that Kurt was . . . different, and losing sight of himself, trying to be less than he was._

_Mercedes wanted Kurt to sing. He was more, was everything he was and could be, when he sang._

_She had shown Ida a few videos of New Directions performances, and even when Kurt didn't have a line or solo, he shone. Ida wanted that for him again – wanted him to remember that he was so much more than what had happened to him. He had inspired her without knowing, had made her want to be friends and have friends, when for many years she had been resigned to her lonely existence. She wondered how many students at McKinley were like her – admiring from a distance, jealous of his confidence – and maybe there were a few who were more like Kurt than they were willing to admit, and saw him as something to aspire to._

_But Ida didn't think it was a good idea for him to go back to McKinley._

"_I want to put it behind me, Blaine, I want to forget it, and I want to pretend it never happened. And that school – I never want to be there again, or see those faces . . . I don't care about making a statement, I don't care if they forget about me, I just want it all to be over."_

_Mercedes breathed in and out slowly before speaking. "I know, baby, and God, I would give anything to go back in time and . . ." Her voice wavered and she had to swallow before continuing. "I think you need to do something – like end it on your own terms. But do whatever, as long as it's what you want."_

_He had smiled faintly at that, but Ida could see he was pretty firm in his decision. Mercedes put down her drink to lean back on the couch and dig out her iPod from her jeans' pocket. "Okay, forget about it for now. I'm thinking of adding some Broadway to my bring-the-house-down playlist."_

_"You mean your I'm-just-as-good-if-not-better-than-Berry playlist?" Kurt clarified with a wider smile._

_"Damn straight."_

_Kurt reached for his own iPod, which was on the table, and passed the earbuds over to Mercedes. "Here, give some of these a listen – the leading ladies of Broadway always have something to offer. They can be just as badass as any pop diva and singing along with them makes me feel as prodigious and powerful as I did wearing ten inch heels and a silver Gaga outfit." He grinned at Blaine then, who looked both confused and interested as his eyebrows climbed up higher on his forehead. "Sorry, Blaine, that's a story for another time. But know that I looked fabulous."_

"_I bet you did," Blaine said, sounding a little dazed. "Tell me there are pictures. Or better yet, tell me you still have the outfit."_

"_I definitely have the heels," Kurt said after briefly furrowing his brow in thought. "Size ten and bedazzled to death. And it took a lot of practise walking in those. But it was worth it."_

_Ida made a mental note to ask Mercedes if she had pictures of this incident._

"I just want to help," Rachel said after Ida finished recounting what had happened the day before. She frowned at her hands then looked up at Ida imploringly. "I want to be there for him – and I can't believe they discussed Broadway without me." Ida hadn't known that Rachel was that much of a Broadway expert, but now that she thought about it, it did make sense. She had never known anyone as theatrical and abrasive as Rachel; she would be right at home on a Broadway stage.

"I know it's probably selfish of me, but I feel like there's nothing else I can really do for Kurt right now. This, though, this is the one thing _I_ can do."

"Kurt knows that and so does Mercedes. I'm sure he'll call you or text you to come, if he feels like it. But maybe . . ." She stopped there, her words failing her; it was weird, finding herself in the middle of this when barely a month ago she hadn't even known these people's _names. _"Maybe he can't handle more than Mercedes helping him right now."

Rachel worried her lower lip for a moment, and then exhaled heavily through her nose. "Okay. You're right. I mean, Kurt's slowly coming around, and he knows I'm here if he needs me. If he doesn't want my help then that's his right." Her lips pursed as she said these words, then she blinked rapidly and that scarily happy smile was back in place. "Right, no more studying, Ida. We need you at the table. You bring a sense of Zen to the whole lunchtime experience. And Tina was asking for you – she said something about wanting to show you the eyeliner trick."

Throughout this whole mini-tirade, Ida had been pulled to her feet, her food shoved temporarily back into her bag, and she was now being tugged down the hall towards the cafeteria – she made a few token protests, but in the end, Ida resigned herself to another boisterous and chaotic lunch with the New Directions.

She tried to be annoyed but a smile was breaking across her face.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Hey, Little Miss Badass, wait up!"

It was official: Ida could not get rid of these people. They were definitely like some sort of contagion – once you caught it, there was no cure. Or maybe they were like those parasites that clung onto sharks. _Wait_, what was she even thinking right now? She had _friends, _not parasites. Ida stopped in her tracks on the way out from school and turned to face Puck, who caught up to her a second later. Once again, she couldn't help the smile that crossed her features, even with the tinge of exasperation.

He clapped a hand on her shoulder and Ida tried not to flinch at the gesture – Puck was big and somewhat mean-looking. While she knew that this gesture was not meant to be threatening and he'd become something of a hero to her, her body reacted as if it were back in that locker room.

"You keep forgetting you're one of us now," Puck said matter-of-factly. "And we're having a meeting."

"I told Rachel about a million times I'm not interested in joining Glee," Ida said tiredly. "Please, Puck, would you just –"

"This isn't that kind of meeting – the assembly's coming up next week, and we wanna make sure that no one is going to harass Kurt if he shows. Or you, though I'm thinking no one really knows who you are, no offense."

"None taken. But I don't see how I could help."

"You could totally help – just do what you did last time. Sound the alarm if you think anything funny is going on." Puck shoved his hands into his pockets. "It ain't no thing. You've just gotta keep your eyes and ears open."

"I don't think I need to come to a meeting to know that." Ida was scanning the parking lot for her mother. "Listen, I'm going to be picked up any second now."

"That's cool, then, as long as you know we're . . . fuck, what the _hell_?"

Ida jumped a bit at the vehemence of his exclamation, and whipped around to see what Puck was glaring at. There, in the tree line off the edge of the school, was a tall figure, bulky – Ida recognized it as Dave Karofsky a split second before Puck was barrelling after him. Ida followed immediately, cursing herself for her lack of self-preservation. Karofsky saw them heading over and he took a step back, and another, but then held his ground. He hunched in on himself; his hands seemed to spasm a bit before forming fists that were then shoved into his jacket pockets.

"What the fuck are you doing here, asshole?" Puck hissed as they got within hearing range.

Karofsky clenched his jaw and then spoke, his voice hoarse, "I wanted to see if Hummel was here."

Ida's eyebrows shot up. That was unexpected. Not only that, but whatever reason Karofsky had for wanting to see Kurt, she wouldn't expect him to admit it so readily to one Kurt's largest and most scary protectors.

Sure enough, Puck's eyes widened and his hands were now also forming fists. Ida darted a quick look behind her – the students were milling about, waiting for rides or just hanging out, and absolutely no one was looking in their direction. She wondered if she should run inside, look for a teacher before this got out of hand.

"You're serious? I told you to stay the hell away from him, otherwise –"

"I know what you said, Puckerman!" Karofsky cut him off, eyes darting nervously to Ida. "But I just . . . I wanted to say I was sorry, all right? I would _never _have done what Azimio did, and he needs to know that!"

"No, he doesn't," Puck growled out. "He doesn't need a damn thing from you. And he's not here – he's never gonna be here again, because his dad pulled him out of school, thanks to your buddy."

Karofsky visibly sagged at that, which had Ida tilting her head, staring at him closely. The intensity in his eyes, the desperation in his voice . . . She was sure he was sincere, but _why?_

"There's an assembly thing, I heard." Karofsky lifted his head up, staring at them both. "A few people on the hockey team texted me, told me. It's been on the news too. Is . . . is Kurt going to be there for that?"

"None of your freakin' business," Puck threw at him with a snarl. "And you better watch yourself, Karofsky. I have no problem planting my fist in your face. Gimmie a reason."

"Why do you want to see Kurt?" Ida asked before Puck could toss out another threat. Karofsky startled at her voice, which made her take a step back, not wanting to provoke him, a little scared despite the fact that he did help her once. "You've never wanted to talk to him before, right? You've been hurting him, and insulting him, and now, suddenly, you want to talk to him?"

Karofsky said nothing, but what made Ida furrow her brow was the way that _Puck _was suddenly looking uncomfortable.

"Maybe you feel guilty, but . . . I don't know, it doesn't make much sense to me. You still think he's some kind of deviant for being gay, don't you? Unless you don't, and you were just following the crowd. Which is disgusting – that you didn't even have your own beliefs behind your actions." She had no clue where this was coming from, but as she picked up speed, she felt a weight lifting off her shoulders. It was like that locker room was always there in the corner of her eye, but now it was fading and the rest of the world was coming into focus. What little fear she felt fell away into nothing.

"What is going on?" she asked finally, and she included Puck in this.

Neither of them answered her, but Karofsky looked so spooked by the end of her small speech that she knew she was onto something. However, she had no idea what was happening, because if Puck knew . . . It was all very confusing, and she was going to repeat her question but Karofsky just threw his hands out in front of him, a sweeping gesture, shaking his head and running back into the woods, disappearing.

Puck watched him go, and Ida watched Puck, waiting expectantly. He looked back at her once Karofsky had been gone for several moments, sighing heavily, rubbing the back of his neck and up over his mohawk. "I can't really tell you what's going on, Ida. It's not mine to tell, and I promised someone. A friend. Not Karofsky. Don't give a crap about him."

That just made things even more baffling, but Ida wasn't going to push, at least not now. She figured the best person to ask about Puck would be Puck's best friend, Finn, but again she wondered whether or not she had the right to be inserting herself into this whole mess.

"It's fine, Puck. I've got to go, I'm sure my mom's wondering where I am. See you Monday."

He smiled at her. "Yeah. And Friday, you're gonna be our undercover girl, right? Eyes on everything?"

"You got it," she said with a returning smile.

Next Friday, when hopefully this could all come to an end in a way that didn't cause any further damage, and not just to Kurt – Ida wanted closure too; she wanted to leave that locker room behind, and stop seeing pools of water as a threat, and feeling cold every time she heard a shower running.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Did you hear that Carl's parents pulled him out of school today?"

"Yeah, I know a couple of other kids whose parents said no."

"That's weird – it's just an anti-bullying thing, isn't it?"

"But they're _recording _it!"

"But you could opt out of that – there was a form and everything. I can get not wanting to be recorded."

"No, dudes, it's about the gay thing. Like, Hummel was attacked because he was gay! Didn't you see what Azimio spray painted in the locker room?"

"So is this some pro-gay thing then?"

"I don't know and who cares? No class for the morning! I'll watch or do anything not to be in Masterson's hell chamber right now."

Ida sighed as she listened to the conversations in the hall. The first bell hadn't gone off yet, but she wasn't sure anyone would hear it when it did. She fingered the sequined pattern on the shoulder of her purple sweater – the sweater Kurt had given her. It did fit her nicely, if a little loosely about her arms and shoulders, and Kurt had been right about the colour suiting her.

The boy in question had been out of contact for the past day or so – Ida wasn't sure what that meant for him; Mercedes had texted yesterday that he'd briefly considered putting in an appearance, but he wouldn't show until the last minute if that was the case. He didn't want to be in the school any longer than he had to be, even with all the police milling about – and Ida had seen more than a handful of uniforms in the short amount of time she'd been in the hallway.

She abruptly wished for her own mom to be around, but she hadn't been able to book any more time off work than she already had, given she'd been home for almost week after Ida got out of the hospital, and was taking the odd half day to deal with the school board and the still-up-in-the-air lawsuit. Ida swallowed hard, closing her eyes briefly against the swirling noise and movement around her, calming herself with a few deep breaths.

They had to report to their homerooms for attendance before they all proceeded to the gym. It was right after the second bell went off and everyone started doing just that when Ida saw a tall, brown-haired head towering over the masses, hunched in on himself, but smiling down at someone Ida couldn't see through the crowd.

"Hey Ida!" Finn called, making a few people turn her way and give her confused looks, like they'd never seen her before. A couple of students pointed and whispered to their friends behind their hands, clearly having recognized who she was. She ignored them all, and smiled up at the boy as he crossed over to her. "Hey."

"Man things _feel _different, don't they?" he said as soon as he stood before her. He shifted his bag on his shoulders with one hand, pulled Rachel in closer by the other. "I mean, you guys were all telling me, but . . . wow, it really does feel _different_."

"The lack of stagnant slushie smell is probably part of that. Not to mention the general absence of that haze of fear and testosterone." Rachel grinned at Ida, flashing a little wave.

"Any news on Kurt?" Ida asked as quietly as she could while still being heard by the two in front of her.

Finn shook his head. "I don't know. Burt's coming for sure, but I haven't seen Kurt since he went to bed last night – he didn't even come out of his room for breakfast this morning." He had his phone in his hand and was periodically glancing at it.

"Well, either way, we're here as his representatives," Rachel stated proudly, a touch of anger colouring her tone. "We're not going to let them forget him or what they did to him."

Ida's phone buzzed as did Finn's and Rachel's. It was a text from Mercedes: _Kurt isn't responding to any of my texts – think he's still at home. Hey, Blaine, you manage to get permission to ditch class today? _Which was swiftly responded to by another mass text, this one from the Dalton boy: _Permission may not be the right word for it, but I'm definitely going to be there! Let me know if I should head to the house or the school. _He followed this up with a smiley face.

"Hmm, Blaine sure seems eager," Rachel said with a sly little grin. Ida couldn't help returning it, in a milder, shyer capacity. Blaine was really, _really _friendly and charming. It was difficult to say if he was really into Kurt in _that _way, because he seemed to just be a naturally effusive and kind person, but Ida could see him and Kurt together. Maybe. Once Kurt had found his firm ground again.

The bell rang _again _as halls were still pretty full and finally everyone took the hint. Ida waved goodbye to Finn and Rachel, heading into her first period. A few more people whispered as she walked past their desks; she supposed that today of all days, she wouldn't be able to fade into the background as easily as she was used to. Attendance took about five minutes – three of which were spent getting the class to quiet down.

Five minutes after that, Figgins was calling for teachers to bring their students to the gym, by certain homeroom numbers. Thankfully, Ida's was amongst those called first. Her nervousness was making her fingers twitch, her neck tingle.

"Hey, Ida!"

She whipped her head around at the shout of her name – Burt Hummel was making his way towards her. He shot her a smile as he approached, and then took his hat off as he turned to her teacher.

"Ma'am, my name is Burt Hummel, and Ida is a friend of my son's Kurt. I was wondering if maybe we could borrow her. We'd like her to sit with us during this assembly."

Ida blinked, her mouth parting in surprise. She hardly heard Mrs. Beechum's reply, just moved in to stand next to Mr. Hummel, shifting a little on her feet. Baseball cap jammed back onto his head, Mr. Hummel put a hand on her back, guiding her against the rush of students entering the gym. "We've got Finn, Rachel and Mercedes with us, and apparently that Blaine kid is almost here too. Kurt's . . . I'm pretty sure he isn't going to show today."

They were approaching the choir room, and Ida smiled as she walked in to see it full of Glee club members, Mr. Schuester, Mrs. Hudson, and Miss Pillsbury, everybody chatting and upbeat. There was an odd undercurrent to it all – Rachel, Mercedes, and Quinn were talking intensely about something. Ida took a step forward, and then was promptly snatched up by Rachel, who broke away from her other friends to welcome Ida with her staple too-bright smile. Burt moved to take his place at Mrs. Hudson's side, wrapping an arm around Finn's shoulder. Ida jumped when a deep voice broke into the general chatter.

"Hello again, everyone."

Ida turned, grateful to see the familiar and welcome face of Officer Henderson. He gave her a quick grin before facing Burt. "Just wanted to check in, see how you're doing."

Burt shrugged. "I'm only here to see exactly how serious everyone is taking this – I'm pretty good at sniffing out bullshit, if you'll pardon my language."

The police officer didn't flinch at all at that announcement. "That is completely reasonable. You know I have a kid, I'd do the same in your position."

Ida saw Burt relax a little at that. "Well, I appreciate the understanding, Officer Henderson."

"I've told you that you can call me Patrick, if that's easier on you – fewer syllables, anyways." He took the time to explain what was going on, and let them know that there were seats right up front, just for them, whenever everyone was ready to go. After the brief rundown, he gave Burt a handshake and went to begin the assembly with his speech.

"I suppose we should head in there," Mr. Schuester said, breathing out slowly. "I'm curious to hear what the board has to say more than anything else."

"Specifically if they'll admit to any fault on their part," Mrs. Hudson added, her eyes flashing. "Because if I blame anyone, aside from Figgins, it's them."

There was a long pause. In that moment of tension, Blaine burst into the room, breathless and wild eyed. "I made it, right? Thanks for the directions, Mercedes."

"No problem, Blaine." She smiled fondly at the other boy, shooting Quinn a significant look which was returned along with a grin. Brittany whispered something to Santana, and the girl let out a throaty laugh. "But Kurt's a no-show. We're heading into the gym now."

He sagged a little, but then brightened when he caught sight of the amused smile Burt was sending in his direction. "I appreciate you not, um, calling me out on my missing school. I wanted to come just in case Kurt . . . but it's good to be here, so I can help give Kurt the play-by-play later, if he wants it."

Ida had to smother a smile, and saw Mercedes, Rachel – all of the Glee girls, really – doing the same, while nearly everyone else looked at each other with raised eyebrows or sly winks. Ida let them all go ahead of her, taking a second to breathe. She hadn't really thought about what it might do to her to be part of this whole thing; she was starting to feel a little closed in again. Maybe she couldn't do this either.

Her phone buzzed. She blinked as she read the text, mouth opening then closing: _Hey, I'm here. Meet me by the entrance to the auditorium – it's empty. Don't tell the others._

She stared for another second before her feet started moving of their own accord. Clutching the strap of her bag tightly, she made her way cautiously down the halls, smiling at a couple of police officers that asked her why she wasn't in the gym.

"Bathroom," she said quietly. "Officer Henderson – Patrick – said I could go."

Her use of his first name visibly relaxed them, and they smiled at her before letting her move on. She swung around the corner that would take her to the auditorium, and stopped dead in her tracks.

Kurt was there.

And so was Karofsky.

Ida stared, frozen, as Karofsky, who was standing a bare two feet away from Kurt, spoke urgently, "And if I'd known what he was planning, I swear to God, Kurt, I would have done something. Stopped him before it got that far."

Kurt was staring up at him, pressed back into a wall, holding the straps of his messenger bag so tightly the whites of knuckles were prominently on display. "Fine, you didn't have a hand in gay bashing me. Congratulations, you are clearly evolving, albeit minutely. I had figured that much out on my own. Your particular brand of self-loathing would likely involve a different kind of violence, one I sincerely hope you'll seek help for before it happens."

Karofsky flinched. "I wouldn't ever . . . I would never hurt you like that, if that's what you're . . . I'm not a monster."

"I'm not talking about hurting me," Kurt breathed out, his eyes wide, but not so much afraid – or at least not _only _afraid – but a little sad, maybe? "Or anyone else. Dave, you need to talk to someone about this."

There was a silence, and Ida didn't dare move, didn't want to draw attention and break the fragile balance between the two of them, but at the same time, her throat was seizing up – a yell for help was caught in there, waiting to be set free at the slightest sign of trouble.

Karofsky raised a shaking hand to his face, pressing against his eyes for a few seconds before dropping down to hover at chest level. "I can't even think it. It's not real if I can't think it. If I can't say it."

"But you didn't have to – you _acted on it,_" Kurt's voice hitched. "It's a part of you and it won't go away. You can either fight it and destroy yourself in the process, or you can accept it and get on with your life. You don't have to do it today, or next year, but at least admit it to yourself."

Dave laughed humourlessly, a ripped up sound, wet and raspy. Ida watched him and for the first time, she felt sorry for him. Based on what she was hearing, the bully before her was dealing with some serious questions about his sexuality and that explained – though it didn't excuse – a lot of his behaviour toward Kurt. It also set a lot their interactions in a really unsettling light and Ida was preparing to announce her presence, but Karofsky's laugh ended abruptly with this tentative, hopeful glance at Kurt that had Ida holding her breath.

"If I do this, at some point, not right now but . . . later, much later," Karofsky spoke haltingly, not looking at Kurt, chewing on his lips between words. "Could I . . . could I . . . talk to you, maybe . . . about . . . stuff?"

Kurt's eyes were searching his face – whatever he saw had him relaxing a little and pushing away from the wall. "You can't ask me that. Not now. I'm not, I'm not capable of it. In a few months, there might be a chance that we can talk, but I can't promise it. There are other people around, a few people who are like us that you can talk to, that won't judge. You know there are places you can call, websites you can look up. Do that in the meantime."

Dave looked up again, and his face was completely unguarded – he was afraid, he was ashamed, he was looking at Kurt like . . . Ida's epiphany had her hand coming up to smother a gasp. _Oh. _"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what happened in that locker room."

And somehow Ida knew he wasn't talking about Azimio.

Kurt's breathing went uneven and his fingers tightened around his bag straps again. "Okay."

"It won't happen again. I don't just mean to you, I . . . it was stupid . . . You didn't want it, and I didn't want to do it like that, it's just, you've always been . . ." He hung his head, and what came next was a whisper; Ida had to strain her ears to hear it. "You're . . . something else, you know that? And it isn't just that you're . . . good-looking. I'm sorry, I know this makes me a creep. But you're leaving so . . . there it is."

The silence stretched between them. Ida felt several more pieces locking into place: Puck knew what had happened between Kurt and Karofsky, whatever that had been, and he'd been protecting Kurt from him, threatening Karofsky with outing him – she wasn't sure what to feel about that. Kurt's reluctance to press any charges against Dave made more sense too, and Ida's own ire towards the bully was significantly lessened, though it was not completely gone.

"I hope it gets better for you, Dave, I really do," Kurt finally said, quiet and sincere. He looked over to the side, caught Ida's gaze, and stared in surprise. Dave didn't see her yet, and he wouldn't, it seemed, because he was turning, his back to her, to leave. He took a step, then paused, half-turning to face Kurt again.

"It's good, that you're leaving. You deserve better than this place."

He walked away, rounding a corner. She and Kurt both watched him disappear before facing each other. She waited until Karofsky's footsteps had faded and then stepped in closer.

"You didn't call for help this time," he said, his hands coming up to his perfectly hair-sprayed locks – his fingers were trembling.

"You seemed like you had it under control. I didn't want to surprise him, make him angry," she said softly. "Are you okay?"

Kurt stared at his shaking hands for a moment. Then he shook his head, clenching them into fists, loosening them after a moment, and repeating the process a few times while smiling crookedly at her. "For now, I guess. It was good, to get that . . . out there. Helps with what I want to do."

She waited for an explanation, but Kurt only tilted his head towards the auditorium. She followed him in, and he walked with purpose towards the stage, heading for the piano. He dropped his bag onto it, opening it and pulling out a CD. It flashed in the minimal stage lighting. He put it down and breathed in and out for several moments.

Her heart kept stuttering away in her chest. She was grateful for the silence in the auditorium; she didn't think she could handle any sharp, sudden noises right now.

Kurt didn't say anything, just slid himself up onto the piano, sitting there with his legs swinging slightly. Ida put her bag down and followed; she sat next to him, not sure where to put her hands, and eventually settled for bracing them on the piano edge, on either side of her thighs. Kurt studied his boot-clad feet, barely blinking.

"This isn't how I pictured getting an opportunity for a big solo debut," he said finally. "I've fought for the spotlight like no one's business, but if I had known that this was how it would happen, I would've been content to sway in the background. If I'd been smart enough to stick to the periphery, none of this would have happened."

Ida had lived on the periphery all her life. Always quiet, always willing to let others be in front, blocking her view – blending in, turning away, mouth shut. Eventually she forgot the sound of her own raised voice. She never really got to know how it felt to share smiles with people who really knew her, or laughter over inside jokes. Ida only had experience with never having anyone acknowledge she was there, that she existed, that maybe she could be someone that they would find worth their while to get to know.

She inched her hand a little closer to Kurt's leg while he gathered his thoughts again. He was quiet, so quiet, when he spoke next, "It won't fix what's happened, and I don't . . . think I can do it anymore. I think I've used up what inner strength I had. Eventually you get tired – and I'm exhausted, Ida. What am I even doing here?"

Ida exhaled slowly. She wasn't entirely sure what Kurt's plan was, but if he was here, in the auditorium, she could make a reasonable guess. "I think you want to prove to yourself that you can still do this. That there was something that they couldn't take away from you."

"It's the plot of an after-school special and the B-plot at that." He glanced down at Ida's hands as they curled over the lip of the piano lid. "We're not supposed to question the lesson, are we? We're just supposed to learn it and move on."

"But you're more than a badly-acted, cliché 'very special episode'," Ida burst out, completely blindsided by her own frustration and the sudden need to say everything that was on her mind. "And the moral so far – if there even is one – is that bad things happen because people are stupid or evil or caught up in their own pain, and we can't do anything other than survive it. Because, well, what else is there? I'm not leaving my mom, you're not leaving your dad, so we'll both deal and I don't know what good or bad will come of it, but there it is." She echoed Karofsky's words without realizing it at first, but when she did, she just sighed heavily and shrugged, feeling her cheeks flame. She didn't think she'd ever spoken that much, that honestly, to anyone who wasn't her mother.

Kurt was watching her with those incredible eyes of his, but she couldn't read them, didn't want to know what he was thinking. "That was . . . surprisingly helpful. Thank you, Ida. I'm glad it was you that walked into that locker room."

"I . . . you're welcome?" He laughed good-naturedly at her uncertainty, and that gave her another burst of courage. Kurt was _her _friend now, _damn it_.

"Since I'm on a roll – I think that everyone trying to get you involved in work, or volunteering, or designing portfolios – they mean well, but that's not what you need. I think you need to do _this._" She waved her hands to encompass the stage.

"And I think you need to get better, get back into the world, on your own terms. You've had too many decisions taken from you – things have been happening _to you _and instead you need to make things happen _for you, _which sounds like some very lame and cheesy self-help shtick, but it's . . . you've had people pushing their thoughts and ideas and feelings on you." She flinched as she thought of Dave. "For once, you should just take what _you're_ feeling and thinking, and push it on everyone else. Make them understand where you're coming from." She had no clue if she was making sense, but she didn't care – she had expressed an opinion, to someone who might actually take it into account, and that felt _awesome._

She wasn't expecting to get hugged for it, but Kurt's arms were around her shoulders before she had time to adjust, and she almost slid off the piano as she jumped at the sudden contact. He didn't say anything, and he didn't have to. She was good with silences.

He did ask her to send a text to everyone, asking them to come to the auditorium. He disappeared with his CD as she sent off the message. Within two minutes, the Glee club was pouring in, along with the Hudson-Hummels, Rachel's dads (Ida hadn't even known they were coming), Blaine, Mr. Schuester, Miss Pillsbury, and Ida was pretty sure she saw Coach Sylvester slink into the back, hiding in the shadows. She had no idea how they had managed to leave that assembly without making a scene, but when no one else tumbled in after them, she decided it wasn't important.

They rushed in, chattering and eager for a glimpse of Kurt, and he reappeared, meeting them half way up the aisle. He accepted a few hugs and then, with that same quiet voice, told them, "Okay, so, I suppose explanations are due."

This silenced any remaining conversations and everyone was silent and attentive. A few of them even took seats – Mercedes, Blaine, Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury. Ida took the empty seat in-between Mercedes and Blaine.

Kurt stood in front of them all, and Ida could see, faintly, the line across his forehead that had been a cut, stitches removed a while ago. She knew, after everything Kurt had been through in this short while, that having so many eyes on him, even just those of his friends and family and teachers, had to be pushing him to flee, but he didn't show it at all. He just stood there, staring around at them.

"Kurt," his dad spoke up. "You don't have to –"

"Yes, yes I do." He took a deep breath, exhaled, took in another breath and started speaking, slow and measured. "You all know that I'm leaving, because my dad doesn't feel that I'm safe here. I suppose that's become true. But I think, that if it was up to me . . . I wouldn't leave," he said truthfully, and Ida felt Blaine jerk up in his seat at Kurt's confession. "You're all my closest and best friends." He smiled at Mercedes, who grinned back. "We have one of the best Glee clubs out there, and it's what gave me the strength to keep going when things started getting pretty close to unbearable. Every time I was in that choir room, I could sing and diva out, or even rock out, though that's not necessarily my taste. I'm going to miss that – miss seeing you guys – while I'm away."

He swallowed, looking down at his feet, and when he looked up again, Ida inhaled sharply, pleasantly surprised, because this was more familiar, that look of proud defiance. "But despite everything, good and bad, that's happened here, I'm still _me. _No one's taken that from me, and no one _ever _will. That's one thing I'm proud to have," he said with a touch of arrogance. "I have never been ashamed – never been afraid – of showing off or being fabulous, and you all know it."

He took in a breath here, trying to keep his voice steady, but Ida could see a fine tremble in his fingers, because she was looking for it. She tried to send some courage his way with as reassuring a look as she could muster.

"I'm singing for myself right now, and I'm just going to sing the truth. I hope that somehow, you all understand that I'm not leaving because someone hurt me enough to force me to run." Kurt blinked rapidly and his hands flexed uselessly at his sides; Mercedes flinched, Burt swallowed loudly, and Ida saw Puck and Finn exchange looks, jaws clenched. Mr. Schuester was shifting in his seat, regret lining his features. Kurt took another pair of deep breaths before speaking again, "I'm leaving because my father deserves better than being afraid for his son every day I leave for school, and because, quite frankly, they don't deserve to have such fabulousness in their midst here." He finished with a slightly crooked grin, and Tina giggled a little at that. Kurt's smile broadened.

"I wanted to share this with all of you, and, well, make it a goodbye of sorts too, since I am leaving for an indeterminate amount of time." Ida wondered at that – Mr. Hummel seemed adamant about not letting Kurt back into McKinley ever again, but maybe that wasn't feasible. Her mom would transfer her to that private all-girl school if she could, but there was no way they could afford even a semester at that place. The Hummels were slightly better off, but even for them, Dalton was going to be very expensive.

"Could somebody help cue up the music for me?" Kurt asked.

Sam jumped up. "Got it, dude, you do whatever you need to."

Mike stood up as well. "And I'll deal with the lighting – you deserve a spotlight."

Kurt smiled gratefully, and gave everyone else a brief nod before he turned to walk back down to the stage. At that point, the rest of the small crowd took seats in random spots in the auditorium, and Ida turned to see the shadowy form of Coach Sylvester standing in the very back. She was apparently shutting the door behind them, but not before a few more figures crept in – students, most likely, that Ida didn't recognize, but she trusted the terrifying cheerleading coach wouldn't have let them stay if they were trouble makers of any sort.

While she was watching, she saw Officer Henderson poke his head in, moving swiftly and silently down towards their seats.

All the lights dimmed even further than they had already and the lone spotlight flicked on, powerfully bright for a moment before dimming as well, albeit only slightly. Kurt hesitated for a split second before stepping into it, sliding a microphone stand along with him. He adjusted it to his height, letting his hands drop and turning his head to stare at Sam in the shadows. Some silent communication ensued, and after a minute, Kurt gave the smallest of nods.

The music cued up and Ida watched as Kurt took in a deep breath, letting the steady melody flow into him and loosen his limbs, but not his poise. The words were sung slowly, almost conversationally, but with a deep, thrumming power.

"_I am what I am, I am my own special creation," _he lifted his hands in supplication, _"So come – take a look, give me the hook or the ovation." _Ida had only ever heard Kurt in low quality YouTube videos – and that had still been impressive. Now, she was distantly aware of her mouth falling open, but the whole of her attention was on the lone singer on stage.

"_It's my world that I want to take a little pride in. My world, and it's not a place I have to hide in." _His voice was low, smooth and the purest mixture of pain and pride she'd ever heard.

"_Life's not worth a damn, 'til you can say, 'Hey world, I am what I am'."_

His voice was getting gravelly and much less honey sounding – but it was also picking up steam and still so, so potent and true. There were tears springing into Ida's eyes. Next to her, Blaine was absolutely silent and breathless. His hands were clutching at the armrests as he stared in wide-eyed shock at Kurt baring his soul. On her other side, Mercedes had a hand to her mouth, and the other reached for Ida's. Ida let her take it, and squeezed it tight in return.

"_I am what I am, I don't want praise, I don't want pity. I bang my own drum – some think it's noise, I think it's pretty." _He went up a bit there, a sweet smile on his face, but it dropped fairly quickly and the barely restrained anger was back.

"_And so what, if I love each feather and each spangle – why not try to see things from a diff'rent angle? Your life is a sham 'til you can shout out loud – I am what I am!"_

The song picked up speed here and Kurt exploded into motion; he grabbed the microphone, marching to the edge of the stage, glaring at everyone and no one, focusing on some empty chairs, and then up to the balcony, whereupon his clear eyes flashed and held there for a second. He belted out the last verse, practically shouting some of the words.

"_I am what am – and what I am needs no excuses. I deal my own deck – sometimes the ace, sometimes the deuces. There's one life, and there's no return and no deposit; one life, so it's time to open up your closet. Life's not worth a damn, 'til you can say, 'Hey world, I am what I am!_'"

He held that note on a yell until he couldn't anymore, and when he finished with a nearly inaudible gasp, it took Ida no time at all to shake off her shock and awe, though she was a second behind Burt Hummel, who was already whooping and clapping. She started applauding like a mad woman, jumping to her feet along with everyone else. Rachel was bouncing up and down as she cheered, and Ida spotted Officer Henderson clapping too, smiling broadly, and even putting two fingers in his mouth for a loud whistle. He was standing then, getting ready to leave, but he said something quick to Mr. Hummel, shaking his hand and Mrs. Hudson's, before exiting the auditorium through one of the lower side entrances, grin wide and eyes gleaming faintly. Kurt simply stood there, watching them all before putting the microphone down on the piano, and breaking into a beautiful smile.

Sam came running out of the wings to sweep Kurt up in an enthusiastic hug, and Mike was running down too, grinning widely and taking his turn. In no time at all, everyone was swarming the stage, and jabbering enthusiastically. Rachel was insisting it was, "Just as good as John Barrowman, and you almost touched George Hearn there in the end."

Ida glanced over to the back to see Sue Sylvester still seated, but with the lights darkened, she couldn't see the expression on her face. The students were standing, and the door was opening; Ida caught sight of a couple of girls, and a few boys, one of them was a football jock, she thought – Langster? Rosenthal? She wasn't sure about names, but there was no mistaking the gobsmacked looks on their faces. They were sneaking out quickly, and that reminded Ida of Kurt shooting an intense look upwards as he sang – she whipped her head up to the balcony, but no one was there, and there was no way to tell if anyone had been.

"Good grief, kiddo," Mr. Hummel was saying, wrapping his son up in a tight hug. "You are mind-blowing – I can't believe we're related."

Kurt laughed into his father's shoulder. "I can. It had to come from somewhere, dad. I've heard you sing in the shower, you're not half bad."

" 'Not half-bad' does not add up to being the star you are." His dad pulled back, cupping a large hand on one side of Kurt's neck. "I am so incredibly proud of you."

Mrs. Hudson took her turn, and Finn was next, just as excited as Mr. Hummel, and it seemed like ages passed before Ida managed to make it to the stage, just in time for Blaine to approach Kurt, wonder lingering in his wide eyes. Blaine walked to him, taking a hand, slow and careful, giving Kurt time to pull away. When he didn't, he grinned. "I should have known. I've seen some videos but they pale in comparison to _this. _You're pretty much already guaranteed a spot on the Warblers, but when we have solo auditions you're going to knock the council's socks off, Kurt, I know you are. I have some serious competition it seems."

"Hm, you best believe it, Anderson. I am all about knocking socks off – and I seem to have a head start with you," Kurt said with a raised eyebrow and a significant glance down. Ida followed his gaze and then held back a giggle at Blaine's ankle pants that revealed his sockless feet in a pair of brown leather loafers.

Blaine flushed but seemed to stand a little straighter. "Hey, you like your boots up to the knee, I hate to wear socks, and we each pick our fashions accordingly."

Kurt raised his free hand in a placating gesture. "No worries, Blaine. There may be a Vogue session in your future, fair warning, but I won't argue the fact that it does rather suit you."

"Well, is that a stamp of approval from Kurt Hummel?" Blaine asked, fingers curling a little tighter around Kurt's.

"It's an 'it'll do for now' note in your docket," Kurt conceded, finally dropping his hand and turning to Ida.

She didn't allow herself any second guessing – she just raised her arms and was thrilled beyond belief when Kurt took the extra step for her, coming to wrap her up in a hug. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear. "For everything, Ida, for absolutely everything."

Ida couldn't think of anything to say to that, but somehow the words were falling from her mouth regardless, "Kurt, no, thank_ you. _For everything you were before this and everything you're going to be from now on. _Thank you_."

She had no clue, once again, if what she said made any sense, but Kurt was clutching her tightly and she was laughing a little breathlessly, and then he was stepping back, wiping discretely under his eyes, turning around to proclaim a need for some food that _wasn't _Breadstix. Santana immediately started complaining that there wasn't anything better, and Miss Pillsbury mentioned a small Thai place that she knew of that was recently inspected and passed with flying colours – something she could personally attest to, as she hadn't felt the need to bring her own cutlery to the place. Quinn voiced her own fondness for Thai food and added, "Ida, you said that you liked it too, right?"

She had mentioned it, once, in a random comment on Facebook and it was like a blow to the solar plexus to realize that some had read that and _remembered it._

And that cemented it all for her. She had friends. Good friends. That were _hers. _That listened to her, and liked her, and wanted to be around her. This wasn't temporary, this wasn't a fever dream, this wasn't pity, and this wasn't a mistake.

This was what it was, and she was finally, _finally _going to stop questioning or doubting it.

Puck was coming up behind her, clapping her on the back, announcing that it should be Kurt's pick as to where they ate. Mercedes was clasping Ida's arm at the same time she was reaching for Kurt's hand.

"Well, Thai gets my vote," Ida said firmly, without any shyness whatsoever. "My mom's on lunch break soon, and I think that place is pretty close to her office."

Kurt nodded. "Well, that sounds good to me. To the cars!"

"Shotgun with Kurt!" Ida called, grinning madly as Mercedes smacked her and demanded control of the music if Ida was claiming the prized passenger seat. Rachel insisted that she be allowed in the SUV as well, and similar arguments ensued as everyone tumbled into different vehicles. Somehow, they ended up blasting music (Kurt was blaring some Queen from his truly impressive speakers, Ida cheering as he and Blaine hit those high notes along with Freddie Mercury), while over with Brittany, Santana, Puck, Sam and Quinn, they had some Rolling Stones going on, _Jumpin' Jack Flash _nearly overwhelming them. Mike, Tina, Artie and Finn pulled out in front, belting out _Highway to Hell._ The adults were beeping warnings from behind as they tangoed with the speed limit, and Kurt waved a hand out to his dad from his open window, grinning widely as the wind ruffled his hair.

The song switched tracks and suddenly all the teens in the SUV, including Ida, were laughing and pointedly serenading Kurt, who took it in stride, beaming from the driver's seat. Everyone in Quinn's car and Mike's vehicle turned down their music to sing along too as they pulled up to a red light.

"_Caviar and cigarettes, well versed in etiquette, extraordinarily nice," _Blaine leaned over from his middle seat in the back, nudging Kurt gently.

Every Glee member, including Ida in her own off-key warble, joined in, "_She's a Killer Queen, gunpowder, gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam, guaranteed to blow your mind, anytime._"

Suddenly, Ida was singing alone with distant accompaniment from the other cars full of teenagers, "_Recommended at the price, insatiable in appetite, wanna try?_"

Her voice was that of the tone-deaf, and sounded especially weak in comparison to those of the insanely talented Glee clubbers around her, but there wasn't any wincing or false smiling sent her way – just more laughter and more singing along.

Rachel gave her an exaggerated, awed look as she leaned up to put her hands on Kurt's shoulders from her seat directly behind him. "_Perfume came naturally from Paris, for cars she couldn't care less, fastidious and precise."_

She didn't think people broke into song like this in real life, but they'd been telling her for weeks now that this was their way of communicating, of celebrating and mourning. Ida had seen it with Kurt on stage as he poured every ounce of pride, shame and hurt into his voice, and now everyone else was laughing, naming Kurt _dynamite with a laser beam _with all their love and joy for him. The fact that she suspected that the song was about a high-priced call-girl made her beam all the wider, because if there was anything New Directions had taught her, it was that the inappropriate could be _hilarious _and song lyrics meant whatever you wanted them to.

It was magical and strange and she didn't think it could last forever, but the bonds between these people, they were real, honest, complicated and holding fast.

And now Ida was tangled up in them.

She waved a cheerful good-bye to her days as the invisible wallflower and rolled down her window to shamelessly scandalize Lima with her teenage antics and terrible voice, grinning ecstatically at Mike from her side of the car, and exchanging finger guns with Puck out of Kurt's window.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Fin_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **First off, **disclaimer on the two songs used in this chapter, which are clearly not mine:** _I Am What I Am _comes from the musical _Les Cages Aux Folles, _and if you want to hear it in its entirety, you can look up either the George Hearn (original cast) (which I highly recommend!) version or the John Barrowman version (also great!) on YouTube. _Killer Queen _belongs to Queen, and Freddie Mercury owns all of rock-dom, according to me.

I've had the part with Kurt singing in the auditorium written for almost _three years, _and I'm kind of shocked Glee hasn't had Kurt sing _I Am What I Am_ in the meantime.

**Now, I'm obviously a terrible person who doesn't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm asking for it anyways. **There is still an epilogue coming, and I promise to get that up as soon as possible. I have finally finished with school (or at least with my BA), and shall hopefully now have a heck of a lot more time to finish this!

If you're still reading, I adore you. If you're putting this story in your favourites and alerting it, I adore you that much more. And naturally, all you lovely reviewers have my undying devotion and gratitude. But really, _all_ of you readers are amazing and thank you so, so much for putting up with my perpetual tardiness. *hugs*

**Ella Greggs **and **vcg73 **gave me a lot of great ideas in terms of lawsuits and consequences for the board and teachers, so much love and thanks to them for that help! Truthfully, I've had many helpful suggestions throughout the course of this story, so I send out a blanket 'thank you' to all of you!


	11. An Epilogue In Brief

_OOOOOOOOOOOOO_

_An Epilogue In Brief_

_OOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Kurt wasn't entirely sure why the verdict came as a surprise to him; maybe because he'd been so completely submerged in a world where nothing seemed to have consequences – where slushies and dumpsters tosses and cheerleading coaches with strange access to high-tech hearing devices were the norm – the idea of there being a reaction to each bullying action was not a cause-and-effect relationship he could wrap his mind around.

Even with the guilty verdict having been declared three weeks ago, he still couldn't quite believe it. He hadn't been present at any of the court appearances that followed – he knew his dad, Mrs. Callaghan, Mr. Schuester and Coach Sylvester had been there, giving statements to try and ensure that Azimio faced a sentence equivalent to his crime. Kurt hadn't wanted to be there for any of it, and yet somehow felt obligated to show up to this last court date.

Now, at the end of the sentencing hearing, Azimio was being lead away in handcuffs, and his mother was crying into her hands. Kurt felt a distant pang. No mother deserved to watch her child suffer, and Kurt in particular didn't like to see someone's mom so heartbroken. Azimio was facing a full two years in a juvenile correctional facility, most likely the one in Circleville, an almost two hour drive from Lima. He'd checked it on his phone as soon as the name had been mentioned.

Kurt's dad was scoffing at this announcement as the judge retreated to her chambers. "I'm still pissed Mona and I couldn't get him put on the block as an adult."

"He's going to lose two years of his life in that place, and maybe get some help while he's there," Kurt said, careful not to let any of his own doubts show in his voice.

"Two years of his life, versus the fact that he almost 'with malice aforethought' cost you your own." His father's arm had been around his shoulders, and now it tightened, pulling Kurt into his chest. Kurt had no problem with burying his face in his dad's neck, wrapping an arm around him as best he could in their seated position. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the sounds of people getting ready to leave.

He'd asked that it be just himself and his dad on this day; Carole and Finn, as family, could have been present too, but Kurt didn't want more of an audience to this than was already present. No reporters of any sort, or strange spectators of any kind, had been allowed in since this was the sentencing of a minor. The reporters had eased up a lot in the last few months – as no names had been released, and so much time had passed, leaving space for other larger tragedies and gossip to take centre stage, no one was interested in their little drama.

Azimio's familial support consisted of his mother and someone Kurt suspected to be either an aunt or an older cousin. They didn't look back towards him or his dad. The mother cried, the cousin or aunt tried to offer comfort, and Kurt was done with this whole day now.

"Let's go home, please. I know Carole and Finn are waiting with bated breath." Kurt tried for a smile; he was pretty sure it didn't happen, but his father managed one, small though it was.

Ida and her mom got up from their own seats a row down, turning towards them with the same little half smiles.

"We did all we could, Burt," Mrs. Callaghan said quietly as they left. "And I think it was enough."

"It'll have to be," his dad breathed out.

Ida clutched Kurt's hand, pulling him slightly ahead of their parents. "So, have you given any more thought to the whole prom thing?" She was deliberately not looking behind them as they exited the courts, and Kurt was perfectly fine with not addressing what had just transpired.

Kurt shook his head in reply to her question. "As fun as it sounds, I think I'm skipping prom this year. I'm not much for parties right now, but if you guys want to do this whole joint venture, I say go for it." He gave her a wink. "I can tell you Thad is definitely down with it."

Ida did not blush though she grinned shyly and ducked her head. "Right, well, I'm not the only one with a Warbler on my tail. How's Blaine?"

"Still one of my best friends, thank you very much, Ms. Callaghan. You guys need to stop making fun of him for this. He's being a gentleman about the whole thing. Well, except for that drunken kiss with Rachel, but it worked out in the end."

"For _you, _maybe." Ida groaned. "You have no idea how insufferable she was at school – planning their sing-along wedding, naming their 'future Eurasian babies' –"

"I knew that one of two things was going to happen," Kurt said loftily. "Either Blaine was going to confirm once and for all that he was gay, or he would discover that he was bi, but that Rachel was a little too many fries short of a Happy Meal for him. It was also possible that their combined diva-ness would cause a minor explosion that would wipe out everything within a ten mile radius, but I decided it was worth the risk."

"I bow to your Machiavellian stylings, but are you sure there's nothing going on?"

He paused once he reached his dad's truck, taking a moment to gather himself before facing her fully. "Ida, I'm not ready. Blaine is great in so many ways, even when he's being a show-diva, hogging all the solos and charmingly oblivious to the way the Warblers worship the ground he walks on –"

"Thad told me that you have a fan club at Dalton, don't even try to deny it."

"But I can't. It's hard enough when I walk out of the house, looking fabulous, and feel like someone, somewhere is waiting in the wings to . . . hurt me, for it." Ida went quiet, her eyes going dark and sad. "To do that, with a boy on my arm . . . I'm not there yet. And the therapy is helping, but it's just not feasible for me right now. I'm still having the odd nightmare, and last month, when the heating went out and my shower went cold, my dad had to break the bathroom door to get in and talk me down from a panic attack. I don't have enough space in my head for a boyfriend."

Not to mention that Blaine had his own issues, with his own family and with what had happened at his old school; Kurt felt better equipped to deal with everything complicated about Blaine as his friend, and nothing more.

"Kurt, it's only been six months. I'm having nightmares too, though I know what I went though can't compare." Ida went silent after that, as she was prone to do. Kurt liked that about her, that he could just sit, and be quiet, and feel no need to fill the empty space with words. She reached out, held his hand again, this time in a gesture of support.

He pulled her into a hug, and she breathed out a soft, "You're amazing."

He hugged her even tighter, but said nothing. Their parents had apparently finished their conversation and were hanging back, letting them have their moment.

It was not until his dad was pulling into the driveway of their house – their new house, shared with Carole and Finn – that Kurt felt a sliver of relief. That sliver grew as he walked in, and found his stepmom, his stepbrother, and all his friends, including a few of his new Warbler ones, waiting in the living room.

Everyone tensed. Kurt and his dad hadn't wanted to share the news via text or phone call – somehow that felt a little wrong. Ida and Mrs. Callaghan were looking towards Kurt and his father, and his dad was looking at him. Kurt shrugged and then nodded. He didn't want to be the one to say it.

His dad gave him a head tilt, and when Kurt nodded again, he turned to the rest of the room. "He got the full sentence – he'll be in juvie until he's eighteen."

There were sighs of relief and sharp, satisfied exclamations, ranging from "Thank God" to "_Hell_ yes".

The celebrations were limited to that and a few hugs. Kurt was grateful. He didn't exactly feel like breaking out the soda and cheesecake for this. Puck slapped Kurt on the back before yanking him into the empty dining room just off the kitchen.

"Yes?" Kurt raised an eyebrow at the other boy.

Puck seemed to be waiting for something, shuffling on his feet, and when that something either did or didn't happen, he relaxed. "I just . . . I had to say I'm sorry, dude."

"For what?"

"For _what_? For _everything_. Look, Coach Bieste – crap, I mean V.P. Bieste, gotta get used to that – has me starting up this like, hall monitoring group, and um, this lame afterschool douchebag reform club thing. Guys like Langenthal, Thorpe, Ramirez, the ones that never really did anything, but went along with it all? Well, they've actually been showing up. They felt real bad about everything that happened to you and it got me thinking, because they didn't ever really do anything, and I did, and I don't think I ever once said sorry. So here I am. And I'm sorry."

It was quite the speech, and Kurt stared, feeling overwhelmed, but it was in a good way, in a way that had him smiling, slow and real. "Puck, I think the apology was pretty much implied when you stopped dumpster tossing me and started taking slushies to the face yourself."

"Not good enough." Kurt could see how serious the other boy was; he wasn't shifting on his feet at all, or running a hand over his mohawk. His hazel green eyes were focused completely on Kurt. "Maybe if I hadn't been doing all that crap before, none of this would have happened. And I don't just mean what Azimio did."

No one knew about Karofsky other than the ones that Kurt told and the ones that found out by happenstance. Ida didn't know the details, other than what she had overheard the day of the assembly. Kurt had never really thought about what it meant for Puck to know – he should have been worried, because Puck wasn't exactly the subtlest person amongst his friends, and yet he hadn't.

"You can't know that. You've all been telling me to stop playing the 'if only' and 'shoulda-coulda-woulda' game. If I can't play it, then neither can you."

He got a sigh in response, and a somewhat baleful glance. "Dude, just accept the damn apology and let's move on from this, all right?"

Kurt burst out laughing, shaking his head. "All right, apology accepted. Thank you, Noah." There had been many surreal and off-kilter moments in the past few years, so Kurt simply added this memory to his growing collection of those instances, giving Puck a wide smile.

"You're my man, Kurt – in a totally non-gay way, though I guess you know that. Though, if I ever wanted to experiment, I mean, don't go shoving my nose bones into my brain with your Kung-fu –"

"It's jujutsu, and that's not how it works –"

"But if you ain't down with it, I can always find someone interested in The Sex Shark to get my gay on with."

"You will do so with somebody safe, hopefully close to our age, and there will be no money changing hands or internet video footage of it since you are still a _minor_," Kurt said in his most stern tone. "And it won't be me, though I supposed I could be flattered. I choose to be flattered." Kurt had clearly fallen down the rabbit hole again in this conversation, but at least this was awkwardly amusing.

Puck shrugged, a practiced smirk on his face, his eyes crinkled with his own laughter. "Sure, Kurt. In the meantime, you cool with a hug?"

"Oddly enough, despite that rather disturbing turn in the conversation, I am."

He was wrapped up in a bro hug as soon as he'd finished that sentence, and Puck didn't comment or pull away when Kurt turned it into a real hug.

"Hey Kurt, Wes wants to – oh."

Kurt swallowed down another bout of laughter as he turned to face a pleasantly – _too_ pleasantly – smiling Blaine in the doorway. The boy cleared his throat. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"Nah, Curly, we're done. Hey, I can keep everyone out of here if you want to –" He made a series of truly horrifying hand gestures, and that was even with Kurt not knowing what half of them meant – whatever those motions referred to had not been in the pamphlets his dad had traumatized him with, so he probably didn't need to know.

"Thanks but no thanks, Puck," Kurt said firmly, pushing him out the door.

Blaine stood uncomfortably to the side, exhaling his words quickly, "Seriously, Kurt, I didn't mean to –"

"Right, let's cut this off before it turns into every cliché misunderstanding that has ever been written. I am not dating nor do I wish to date Puck. He does not want to date me, and he was not in any way hitting on me." He nearly mentioned the ridiculous experimentation part of the conversation, but he didn't think Blaine would find it that amusing. "Now, what were you saying about Wes?"

Blaine's charming smile had changed into his wider, brighter and far more genuine one. "He and Rachel are doing that thing where they argue over changes in key and pitch, and he wants us to do our rendition of _One Day More_ to, uh, settle the debate."

"To shut her up," Kurt translated. "And yes, let's do it. Definitely one of my better suggestions. Wes and David totally nailed that key change."

"And so did you," Blaine added, following him out of the dinning room. "We should have done that at Regionals – we totally would have cleaned their clocks then."

"I'm rather fond of the duet we did with _Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better_," Kurt said fondly. "Best way I've ever resolved an argument."

Blaine winced. "Uh, yeah, have I mentioned how sorry I was for starting that fight? You were right about the solos, about everything."

"Like I said, we resolved it through song. Our chemistry was off the charts, since there was actual vicious competition going on there." Kurt nudged him in the shoulder. "It's been dealt with Blaine, relax."

Even as his mouth twitched up into a smile, there remained a faint edge of anxiety in the other boy's face; Kurt had noticed it appearing with increasing frequency these past few weeks. "I guess I just want to make sure everything is good between us before . . ."

"Before . . ." Kurt prompted.

They had stopped just outside the living room, out of sight of those inside. Blaine chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then sighed. "Before you go back to McKinley."

Kurt stared at him in shock. "What? Where did you hear that?"

He got a surprised look in return. "I just assumed you'd go back for your senior year? Your friends always talk like it's inevitable."

"It's not." The very idea sent shivers of fear down his spine. "I can't. Even if I wanted to, my father would never let me."

Blaine's nervousness took on a confused air. "But you always talk about McKinley like it's your _home_, like –"

"My _friends_ are my home," he cut him off. "_They_ are the reason I talk about that school at all. I have no attachment to that building except that it houses the people that I'm closest to outside of my family."

"But Dalton hasn't exactly been the perfect getaway." Why did Blaine sound so miserable? Kurt felt the urge to put a hand on the other boy's shoulder or pat him on the back consolingly. "I figured that if you had the option to go back and be with them . . ."

_Right, enough was enough._ Kurt took in a deep breath and let it out, holding up a hand to halt Blaine's train of thought.

"Zero tolerance doesn't mean that nothing happens – just that there are greater consequences when something does. Dalton doesn't have a history of violence to work up from. It hasn't been perfect, but it's been better. I feel _safe_. I won't have that at McKinley, no matter how much it improves."

Blaine somehow seemed both saddened and relieved to hear this. Kurt could relate to the conflicting emotions. It was aching constantly, deep in his ribcage, that he could not don a cap and gown alongside Mercedes, Finn and Rachel. However, the settlement his dad had received from the school board (all done without a drawn-out case, for which Kurt was exceedingly thankful) was just enough to pay for his last year at Dalton – which was where Kurt felt far more welcome, despite lingering wistfulness. He knew his dad could have sued for much more, maybe even won, but the relatively small amount of compensation he wanted was money the board was eager to part with if it meant escaping a full fledged lawsuit; little did they know Burt would have not pushed the issue if they hadn't settled, in acquiescence with Kurt's wishes.

"Right. That makes sense." Blaine exhaled slowly through pursed lips. "I . . . guess that means you haven't really seen anybody outside of the Glee club then, from McKinley."

"No, I haven't?" Kurt's eyebrows went up; that had been a weird statement. "Should I have?"

"No, no. I just . . . never mind." He grinned brightly. "Let's go kick some New Direction butt now, since we couldn't at Regionals."

It wasn't so much a butt-kicking as a giant group sing-along by the end, but he thought Rachel appeared to be begrudgingly impressed with the Warbler's _One Day More _performance.

Blaine's phone buzzed against Kurt's thigh when they were sitting pressed together on the couch, all of them chatting and laughing, too many bodies in one room, too many people squeezed onto furniture and the floor. It was the kind of chaos, the orderly sort of madness Kurt missed from his days in that little choir room back at McKinley, and that he'd brought a small piece of to the stately council room of the Warblers; Kurt was glad to have them _all_ there, and turned to tell Blaine as much as the boy checked his phone.

Then Kurt caught sight of the name on the screen – _Dave. _Warbler David was right there in the room with them. Blaine quickly shoved the phone into his pocket and lifted his head to look at Kurt. Their eyes met and Kurt saw instantly that Blaine knew he had seen. He read the guilt written plainly on Blaine's features, and that cemented Kurt's first wild guess as the reality: _Dave Karofsky. _

They didn't say anything for a moment. Kurt blinked rapidly, tried to force his thoughts to settle. Blaine mouthed silently before explaining, very quietly, "You told him to find help. I didn't want to, but he looked so scared . . . I figured this could be my penance."

"Your – your penance? For what?"

Blaine said nothing, eyes darting about the room. "Let's not talk about this right now. C'mon, Kurt, I think Rachel is going to burst into song again, there's no way we're talking until she's sung herself hoarse."

Kurt levelled him with a single hard stare. "We could just go and have a nice private chat in my backyard."

"We could, if that's what you want." Blaine put a hand on Kurt's arm. "But how about we wait for a quieter time, when there's not about twenty or so potential and proven eavesdroppers?"

Kurt accepted that bit of logic, though he didn't have to be happy about it. Blaine smiled wanly, and then his gaze fell back down to his pocket. He pulled out his phone and tilted it in such a way so Kurt could see. Karofsky had sent a message:

_Having a bad day. But it's not too bad. Just wanted to let you know._

Blaine typed quickly, letting Kurt see him reply:

_You're allowed to have as many of those as it takes. Just think of how amazing it felt to admit the truth to me. And to your dad. _

_Courage._

Kurt couldn't help a small chuckle at the last line. He gave Blaine a genuine smile, tried to convey his willingness to accept this for now, to wait for the explanations.

"Kurt! Let's show them how a duet is actually done! I think _Happy Days _will shut this pretentious council of mediocre talents once and for all!"

Rachel had grabbed him and pushed him to stand with her by the fireplace and everyone was jeering, Warblers and New Directions dividing along a line that was only ever there when they competed. Ida gave Thad a playful shove and situated herself firmly on the McKinley side of the room, and Finn was cueing up the music on the Hummel-Hudson sound system – of the finest quality, since Kurt was willing to sacrifice his allowance for several months to ensure it.

His dad, Carole and Mrs. Callaghan appeared from the kitchen, holding cups of coffee and grinning widely as Rachel hushed everyone with a single, curt glance about the room.

It was a bit trite to sing this now, Kurt thought, but maybe he could let himself get carried away and pretend that this was like all his musicals about misconceptions, silly love triangles, crazy coincidences and costumed theatricality; that this was potentially the closing of one act, happiness on the horizon.

He grinned at his father, feeling how bright his eyes were, and started singing as he clutched Rachel's hand, feeling her squeeze back tightly and never letting go, not for a moment.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"One last thing, Kurt?"

Burt watched his son come back down the stairs. It was late, but Rachel and Mercedes had only just left a few minutes ago, and he'd wanted to take a second or two with his son before this day was through.

"Dad?" Kurt came to a stop in front of him and Burt took his couple of seconds.

Kurt stood tall in front of him, literally, as he now had an inch or so of height above his father. He had changed out of the clothes he'd worn to court into a straight-legged pair of jeans, a grey shirt and a dark green asymmetrical button-up over that. He tilted his head in question towards his father, a few strands of brown hair spilling on his forehead from his previously overly-hair-sprayed style.

Burt took one step, closing the distance between them, and hugged him close. Kurt didn't hesitate in lifting his arms to wrap them around Burt's back, his face fitting easily in that space between neck and shoulder. There was the slightest prickle of stubble, his son's pale skin no longer as smooth as it had been just a short year ago. The strong plain of his back displayed his lean strength openly, just like his broad shoulders and biceps.

The boy in Burt's arms was 'boy' only in the affectionate, paternal sense he felt; the reality was that Kurt had grown so much in the past few months, though it had been only the quietest of moments that gave Burt the opportunity to see this.

"I am so proud of you," he said into Kurt's hair, brushing a kiss to the side of his head.

His son made a small noise, indicating that he had heard, and his arms tightened around Burt. Kurt said nothing, just breathed deeply and held on.

"There's a lot of work to be done, and healing to go through, and I'm gonna to have learn to let you out of my sight for more than a few hours a day, but today, today, kiddo, I just need you to know that I am so damn proud of you and how you've coped with all this."

Kurt sniffed. "I wouldn't have been able to do anything at all if it hadn't been for you. You know the only reason I survived was because I knew I had to come back to my dad, that I couldn't be the one to leave you all alone."

Hearing Kurt say that brought him back to that night, months of ago, when he'd confessed to it, to begging for his life as if it had been a mark of shame. Now Kurt spoke of it as a matter of fact, and hardly any pain coated the words. Burt nodded against his son's shoulder.

"Yeah, but you and me, we ain't alone." He pulled back a little, just enough to look his boy – his young man – in the eye. "We've got an amazing group of friends, and new members of the family. We got more than one reason for living, right?"

Kurt's lips quirked in a lopsided smile. "Yeah, dad. But you're the most important one to me."

"And you're mine. What I'm saying is that you've got a lot going for you. You're going to be incredible wherever you end up in life, and today is the end of this part of your story. No matter what happens, you made it through this whole thing with the better parts of yourself still in one piece. If anything good can be taken from this, it's that I know you have an inner strength to match with that good, stubborn heart of yours."

"Dad . . ." Kurt's eyes gleamed in the low lights. "You're . . . why –"

"Because it's taken me a while to figure out how to say these things, and I figured today was a good day to just bite the bullet and say them. I know there's more to go through, maybe even starting tomorrow, but I like the idea of declaring today, tonight, to be a sort of closing of one door, opening of another."

He got a nod in return, and Kurt stepped a little further out of his arms, another soft sniff hidden as his son cleared his throat. "You don't have to say anything else, dad. I've had some stupid moments where I doubted how much you love me, but never again. And there's nothing that I wouldn't tell you, do for you, if you asked it of me, and even if you didn't, I'd probably still do it." Kurt's smile widened. "It's what kept you from murdering Blaine when he ended up in my bed, after all."

"Don't think that image is ever going to fade from my memory," Burt said with an accompanying snort. "But you're right – no more secrets means I know you would've told me if you guys were . . . together. I'll say again: if it does ever happen, I do want to know, just with certain details left out."

"It's a promise." Kurt shuffled his feet. "And I feel like I should tell you: Blaine is helping Dave Karofsky. I think he's been helping him for a while."

_That _came out of left field – Burt had hoped to never hear the name _Karofsky _ever again. This piece of news took a minute or so for Burt to digest; he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it. On the one hand, it was Blaine, not Kurt, who was dealing with the troubled kid, and he appreciated that Kurt had some distance on it. On the other hand, it wasn't distance enough for Burt to feel comfortable, and while Blaine may not be his own kid, he had enough affection for the overly-gelled, cheesy-but-charming teen to feel concern.

"Let's skip over how that happened and focus on the important part: is Blaine safe? That Karofsky boy is a whole truckload of messed up. Blaine is a good kid, but he's not a professional therapist, which is what Karofsky definitely needs."

Kurt shrugged, his hands open and conveying helplessness. "I agree, but I just found out today. I don't know the details, but I'm sure Blaine is doing the best that he can – I hope that involves persuading, or having persuaded Karofsky to seek some kind of outside help besides him, but . . ."

"Yeah, Blaine can get in over his head – has gotten in over his head more than once," Burt finished, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Well, you keep me updated on that. And please, try not to get too close to it – it probably goes without saying that I don't want you near that Karofsky. At all. I mean it. He enters a building and you leave it immediately. He tries to speak with you, you shut him down and walk away." Of all the cockamamie things Blaine had done or gotten Kurt involved with, this would be the one time Burt would most definitely be putting his foot down. The world was far too small and crazy for Burt at times.

Kurt hesitated a moment. "I . . . dad, I'm not eager to have any kind of interaction with him, but I do feel for the crappy situation that he's in. And I think I can forgive him for . . . the kiss."

"I'm glad you can put it behind you like that, but that doesn't change a damn thing for me." He was entirely sure that if he saw Karofsky anywhere near his kid, Burt would likely come in swinging.

His son sighed heavily. "Okay. Like I said, I'm not exactly planning on pencilling in a meeting with him. What I _do_ plan on is having a good, long talk with Blaine about what he's been doing – and I'll tell you everything I can about it after the fact."

Burt accepted that, trusting in his kid, and took on last second to be worried and pissed off about the whole thing before he swallowed it down and pushed it out of his mind. "You got anything else to spring on me?"

"No, no, I promise." Kurt crossed his heart and grinned. "Well, my Visa bill might a bit of a shocker, but I swear to you, that Versace was a _steal. _Totally worth it."

"I'm gonna end up confiscating your card for a month, aren't I?" Burt asked the sky, hands jammed deep in his jeans' pocket.

"Uh, possibly two months. I'll work in the garage all summer, full-time." Kurt's grin was a perfectly odd combination of mischievous and sweet, and Burt couldn't help chuckling and reaching for him one more time. It wasn't a hug, just an arm around his shoulders as he turned them both to walk up the stairs to their rooms.

"If it's as bad as you're making it sound, you might just start working starting this weekend."

"Dad, no, c'mon," Kurt whined without any real irritation in his tone.

Finn poked his head out his bedroom door as they passed. He carefully kept it as closed as he could, and Burt had to hide a knowing smile.

"Hey, uh, you guys heading to bed now?"

"No, we were thinking of _really _kicking off the party," Kurt said drily. "I'll be starting with changing into my pjs, and dad's going to brush his teeth for ten minutes."

"Says the boy with the twenty minute moisturizing ritual." Burt gave Finn a thumbs-up behind Kurt.

For the past several nights Finn had been working with a few other Glee kids on the Gay-Straight Alliance they were starting up at McKinley – and he'd also been talking to the local community centres about spear-heading similar groups, with some help from PFLAG. His room was currently chock-full of posters, sign-up sheets, petitions and t-shirts.

This idea had been in the works since January, and now, nearing the end of the school year, it seemed like it was all coming together in a matter of days. Burt had already been to bat for Finn and his new club – the school board was pretty much willing to say yes to him at every given turn nowadays – and Carole was lending a hand while also helping to keep it hidden from Kurt.

Finn didn't want to tell his stepbrother until he was one hundred percent sure it was all going to happen; Burt could understand his caution, as there had been a fair bit of resistance to it at first. Rachel had been the hardest one to get to keep quiet about the whole thing, but she loved Finn a lot, and in the end, she wanted Finn to be the one to take all the credit for this. Her own mistakes when it came to Kurt had humbled her a little – at least when it came to these kinds of issues. Burt didn't think there was anything in the world that could humble Rachel Berry's stage personality.

Finn smiled brightly at them both, his eyes flicking to Burt's in acknowledgement once before falling to Kurt. "Hey, uh, bro, I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm glad Azimio's going away. I kinda wanted him to go to a bigger, scarier prison, I won't lie, but more than anything I wanted him far from Lima, away from you."

Kurt pressed his lips together, nodding. "I understand. Thank you, Finn. And thank you for being so amazingly calm about the whole thing these past few months. I know how hard it was for you to deal with some of the stuff the media was saying – shut up, I know you asked Blaine for boxing lessons for more reasons other than 'totally channelling Rocky Balboa'." Finn laughed at that, his smile self-deprecating afterwards. "You were so angry but you dealt with it. I'm . . ." Kurt paused, shot a meaningful glance at his father, then continued, "I'm really grateful. And proud. I couldn't have asked for a better brother."

Finn stepped out his bedroom then, slipping through the barely-cracked open door, and swept Kurt up into a big hug.

"It's been that kind of night, I suppose," Kurt said with an eye roll, though he didn't move away from Finn until the taller boy let him go.

"You're too cool for words, Kurt," Finn said, a soppy expression visible even in the dim light of the hallway. "And I've got something real big to tell you about in a few days – I hope you're proud of me then, 'cause I think it's really cool."

"Then I'll think it's cool too," Kurt said with conviction. "Unless it involves stirrup pants."

Finn laughed, reaching out to ruffle Kurt's hair, which had Kurt ducking away, complaining instantly and vehemently. Finn backed off, acting like he was just kidding around, but he was wiping discretely at the corner of one eye, and when he lifted his gaze towards Burt's, the pride and love in his face was all too easy to see. Burt reached over to squeeze Finn's shoulder. "G'night, son."

The affection in Finn's eyes flared even brighter before he said, with a little rasp in his voice, "Good night, Burt. Good night, Kurt."

Kurt stepped away, finally heading towards his bedroom, and Burt followed him to the door, unable to resist one last little gesture – he wrapped an arm around Kurt's shoulders again and said, "I want you to get a good night's rest, and then sleep in tomorrow. There is _nothing _for you to do, and I'm taking the day off. We can hang out, or you can stay locked in here all day. But either way, I'll be here."

His son looked up at him with eyes that were the perfect mix between Burt's own blue-grey, and Kurt's mom's eyes that had been a beautiful light green. "We'll do brunch and then see where the day takes us." Kurt leaned up to press a kiss to his father's cheek, completely without shame and as tender as he'd been when he was a little boy with chubby cheeks and a wonderfully guileless smile. "Thank you, dad."

He disappeared into his room and Burt blinked away the sudden blurriness in his vision. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his son, and everything he had done so far didn't seem like it was quite enough to make up for the fear and pain Kurt had to live through not only these past few months, but also his entire young life. The unpredictable, unhinged nature of the world had been less than kind to the Hummels.

But he had to accept that at least in part, he'd done some good, because Kurt could hug and kiss and complain and sing and _breathe _as easily as he always had, and any lingering shadows seemed to be fading with each passing day.

Burt retreated to his own room, where his beautiful wife, his second chance, lay in bed, already asleep. He tried to see, as he closed his eyes, the falling curtain on this particular act in Kurt's life – the abject terror and hurt banished by a single spotlight and there stood his son, proud and fierce, singing in a voice meant only for angels and claiming his identity so completely that there was no possibility for doubt or shame. Burt treasured that memory and let it carry him off into a contented sleep, his last thoughts drifting together nonsensically; dimly wondering if he could persuade Kurt to allow him to break his dietary restrictions at least a little bit for their brunch tomorrow, trying to remind himself that he needed to check Kurt's Visa bill in case he'd gone over the limit, wouldn't Kurt's mom be so damn proud of their grown young man, even with his poor grasp of credit card debt, and Burt should have told Kurt that too, but tomorrow . . .

Kurt held the note, the wondrous sound echoing in Burt's mind, as he finally drifted off.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_. . . It's a Very, Very Mad World_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **With this, I exit the Glee fandom – I am grateful beyond words to every single _marvellous_ person that I have met throughout the course of watching, writing and reading in this fandom. I will likely still read, from time to time, stories from my favourite authors, and I will always reply to any messages or reviews sent my way, but I'm officially done writing for Glee.

I am hoping to start branching out into other fandoms that I have often lurked about in, and that I have many half-finished fics for. You may find me posting fic for things like (and in no particular order): _Avengers, Merlin (BBC), Sherlock (BBC), Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood, Teen Wolf, Chronicles of Narnia, Lord of the Rings, Mass Effect_ and maybe a few others I'm missing – there's a _Harry Potter _fic I started about a decade ago, but it'll probably need extensive revisions.

I have no idea where I will be starting, or _when_, and I highly doubt I'll get around to finishing _all _the half-started, half-completed stories that linger on my computer, but I just wanted to give you all some idea of what may be happening next. I might also start posting on AO3 or tumblr, if I ever get the courage to start up the latter (thank you **The Chocolate Alchemist **for your advice! You're a lovely, lovely human being!).

As for Glee, I will always be thankful for the fact that it inspired me to actually start posting stories online, and that it brought me in contact with wonderful individuals I would not have otherwise known. You may get a hint as to how many of those there were if you caught the recommendations and shout-outs at the end of my ninth chapter.

Again, if you guys have an account here, please make sure your private messaging is turned on so I can reply if you choose to leave a review, and if you're on livejournal, please sign in, as I have disabled anonymous commenting in order to combat spam.

So long, farewell for now, and I send all of you the best, warmest, all-encompassing hugs I can. Much love and appreciation sent to all, and again, thank you, _thank you, **thank you**. _You have no idea how truly amazing each of you are :)


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